The Horn's Grace
by Mix Golden Phoenix
Summary: Sam accidentally stumbles across the Horn of Gabriel while exploring the storage room in the Bunker. But it's not the only fragment of Gabriel still lingering behind. There's a bit of Grace left on it. A bit of Grace that finds him very...interesting. Sam's not so thrilled, at first. Until curiosity gets the better of him.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I started writing this before "Meta Fiction" aired. Some time in April, before the two week? hiatus. There was an image released that mentioned the Horn of Gabriel on Metatron's lil' typewriter. So, I took my idea and I ran with it. "Meta Fiction" did not follow my hopes and dreams, but who cares? That's what fan fiction is for.**

**The below story is canon divergent with a little tweak to the mythology. In later chapters, there is reference to acid burns, the Cage, as well as some mature sexual content. If any of these things upsets you, I suggest passing those chapters by, or even the whole fic. I'll try to remember to state in an A/N which chapter contains what.**

* * *

He hadn't meant to piss off the horn. He really hadn't.

He'd just been reaching for some dusty ol' files in a box that was wedged against the wall at the back of the shelf. It wasn't his fault that his hands were a bit too big and wound up smacking something cool, metallic, and hard. Something that wasn't the shelf.

It _may_ have been his fault that a different box stuffed with dusty ol' files found its way to the floor. Aforementioned cool, metallic, and hard thing had shocked the living daylights out of his fingers, leaving a tingly sensation that traveled all the way up to his shoulder.

He'd panicked. He'd jerked his arm back. Shit had happened. He'd clean it up later.

Right then, his attention was drawn to the culprit that had injured him.

The Men of Letters were known for collecting strange artifacts of supernatural persuasion. Sometimes, those artifacts proved deadly. The last thing Sam wanted was to have sealed his fate in some dumb storage room while trying to collect a few sheets of paper that would, hopefully, lead him down the path to figuring out how to deal with Abaddon. It would be an extremely stupid way for him to go, Sam thought. _An accident_. Caused by _a musical instrument._

An ancient musical instrument, by the looks of it. A horn made of curving animal horn that was smooth and polished. It was adorned with silver and gold - the metal he must have touched - to contrast the brown of the horn. It was probably three feet in length. Hard to tell, as it corkscrewed along the shelf between other boxes. Sam had to admit, it was impressive.

His curiosity almost got the better of him. He felt himself reaching for it again, to pull it out and really look at it, but he stopped. No, he remembered, touching the shock-y horn was not a good idea because he still didn't know if he was going to drop dead in a minute or if static had been his assailant, instead.

Sam breathed in, opening his mouth to call for Dean. What came out, instead, was a confused wheeze.

Sam's eyebrows knitted together as he watched a part of the horn start to glow. He continued to watch, hand frozen halfway between him and the instrument, as the white light seemed to collect towards a central point. Probably the area he had touched, he realized with growing anxiety. It wasn't until the light started to intensify to an irritating level, _and _floatup towards his hand, that he went from slight anxiety to full-blown panic.

"Dean." He said, pulling his hand away from the horn.

The light trailed after it, now starting to make faint tinkling noises. They reminded him of whatever the hell instrument was in that Sugar Plum Fairy music. A celesta, or something. It wasn't like Sam remembered music history all that well.

"Dean!" He called out, louder this time.

The light looked awfully familiar to him. Which was strange because it was a wisp of near-sentient light. He hadn't seen many of those in his lifetime. The only thing that fit that description, and something he had encountered recently, was a soul.

Ah, that's why it looked familiar. It wasn't quite the same shape and jerky movement he remembered from a few days ago at St. Bonaventure's but… _Was_ this a soul, though? Those others certainly had not undulated towards him with the intent this _thing_ seemed to have.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, dodging the light as it almost reached him.

He shuffled backwards and then headed for the still-open door. The light changed its course and began to follow him. Naturally. It also seemed to be picking up speed. He didn't even bother to call out for help again. He turned on his heel and ran. Surely to God this thing couldn't keep up with flesh and blood. Hopefully. He could pray.

He had to swerve when he reached the library, almost running headlong into his brother, who leapt back with an exclamation of:

"Dude! What-?!"

Sam skidded to a stop and pointed frantically behind Dean. His brother looked over his shoulder and yelped, jerking away as the light streaked past his head.

Dean didn't even waste time to ask questions.

Sam sure as hell wasn't going to waste time to answer them. This thing was after _him_. It _wanted him_. And he sure as hell wasn't about to let it get him.

So what if he looked ridiculous? A six-foot-four man running away from a light ball roughly the size of his hand that _jingled. _Sometimes, in their line of work, things like pride had to be swept under the rug.

Dean wasn't doing much better than him. Dean was _chasing_ the thing, after all. 'Round and 'round the tables the three of them went. When Sam spared a moment to look behind him, he saw how furious Dean's scowl was. He would have laughed, had he not noticed how similarly upset the light ball looked. The jingling was growing louder, more frantic, and its ever-shifting form was more jagged in appearance.

Looking behind him proved to be his downfall. Literally. Sam's hip caught the back of one of the chairs. Which hurt. With a grunt, he bounced off it, tripped over his own feet, and fell to the ground less than gracefully. All the air rushed out of him as he landed, hard, on his chest. 'Fuck,' was all that went through his head as he scrambled to push himself up.

Sam looked over his shoulder, desperate to find where the ball of light had gotten to. Was it on him, yet? Had it decided to take pity on him and wait for him to get back to his feet? The answer was neither. Not quite.

His eyes widened as Dean reared his arm back. He flinched when Dean slapped the little thing out of the air.

"Ha! Gotcha, bitch!" Dean exclaimed, triumphant grin spread across his face.

Not a second later, his grin dropped. He shook his right arm.

"Ow! What the hell is that thing? It just shocked the shit outta me!"

Sam wanted to tell Dean that it had probably shocked him because Dean'd just spiked it into the hard floor of the Bunker, like it was a damn football, but he couldn't be one-hundred percent sure that was the reason. It had, after all, shocked him when he'd touched the horn it had oozed out of.

Wary of the seemingly stunned ball of light that pulsed on the floor, Sam clambered to his feet.

"I don't know," he replied, not removing his gaze from the thing as he stepped back towards Dean. "I accidentally touched something. A-a horn."

"A _horn?_" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, one of them animal horn…horns. Anyway, I touched it and out popped - "

A ball of light that, apparently, had the ability to bellow at a decibel that could injure eardrums and jar the very earth.

Both he and Dean cried out, clamping their hands over their ears, as the light spazzed out on the floor. The sound of glass shattering throughout the bunker could barely be heard over the light's cries.

Only one thing, that Sam was aware of, could make glass shatter and the earth quake at the sound of its voice…and that was an angel.

It hadn't been a soul Sam'd been reminded of, it'd been Grace. A substance he'd last seen when searching for Gadreel.

Those were not happy memories. At all.

"Make it stop!" Dean yelled at him.

"How?!"

"I don't know!"

"Hey!" Sam shouted, giving a valiant effort in trying to silence the maybe-Grace. "Hey, knock it off!"

Dean gave him a look that perfectly conveyed the question, 'Is that _seriously_ the best you could come up with?'

Surprising both of them, the light stopped screaming. They lowered their hands from their ears slowly. A feeling of relief started to work its way into Sam's system.

Said feeling was premature.

Without warning, the light shot off the ground, headed for him. He yelled and tried to bring his hands up to protect himself. Dean called out to him, fear lacing his voice.

Sam was too late.

The light deftly avoided his arms.

The thought of possession quickly crossed his mind, forcing him to clamp his lips and eyes shut extra tight. The light, or Grace, attached itself to his face, causing him to lose balance and fall against the table behind him. The hard wood dug into his back painfully as he tried to remain on his feet.

It felt like the Grace was looking for a way to get into his body. Little tendrils of what could be electricity zapped at his cheeks, chin, and forehead. However, Sam hadn't given it permission. He should be safe, right? Yet, what if Grace, itself, didn't need permission? The thought terrified him.

Sam flailed blindly for Dean, hoping his brother would pull the unwanted intruder off of him. He hoped Dean wouldn't stand by and let him be violated, again, as he'd done _last time._

Much to his relief, he felt his brother's hands grasping at his waving ones. It was a muted sort of relief, though. His entire face had gone numb.

"Sam," Dean said to him, his voice cautioning. "Sam, I think you should stop flailing. I know it sounds nuts, but uh…"

The numbing tendrils began to travel up his face and into his hair.

It was moving. The Grace was crawling up his face and the best advice Dean could give him was, essentially, 'Don't panic.'

Sam squeezed Dean's hands with his own as hard as he could to illustrate just how down he was with that bit of advice. The hiss of breath Dean gave was music to his ears. Music he would have preferred to hear over the tinkling music of the Grace.

"No, I'm serious," his brother stressed. "I think it's just checking you out. OW! Well, I don't think I can swat it off your face without deckin' ya in the nose, okay?! Or pissing it off! There's no telling what it'd do to you, then!"

Dean did have a point there, Sam was loathe to admit.

The Grace slithered its way onto his head and down the back of his neck. He couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through his body. By the time it began its descent along his spine, Sam finally felt safe enough to open his eyes. Dean still had a hold of his hands, or maybe he still had a hold of Dean's, and the look his brother was giving him was one of shaky reassurance.

The Grace retraced its steps once it hit the table Sam was almost sitting on. Like a creepy caterpillar of light and energy that'd hit a wall and realized it'd gone the wrong way. He tensed once again.

"What the hell?" Dean asked, gaze flicking from Sam's face to the light that was shining behind him.

"I don't know," he breathed in reply.

"Seriously, dude: What the hell?"

"I. Don't. Know."

"Is it… Is it a soul? It kinda looks like one. Like Bobby's. Maybe touching that horn released it somehow?"

"It's Grace," Sam deadpanned, trying, and failing, to not let his discomfort show as the light clung between his shoulder blades.

"Grace?" Dean asked, disbelief evident in his tone. "As in the-juice-angels-run-on Grace? How can you be so sure?"

"Because I remember Gadreel's." He managed, somehow, not to growl that sentence.

"Oh." Dean dropped his hands after that and took a few steps back. "Right. With Cas and the - "

"_Yeah._"

"Um…"

"_What_ is it doing?"

Dean stared at the jingling mass of energy that was hovering way too close to Sam's face for comfort.

"Sitting on your shoulder?"

"Of course it is."

Dean licked his lips before asking, "Why would an angel's Grace be hiding in an animal horn _horn_, and why would it chase you around the Bunker? Is this some more of…of You-Know-Who's bullshit, or?"

Sam hated how his brother skirted around the issue of Gadreel. _Hated_ it. But, he wasn't going to waste his breath telling Dean that. Not again. He'd said all there was to say. Dean just didn't want to listen. Whatever. The pressing issue this time, amazingly, was not Gadreel. No, Sam had no memories of Gadreel ever having tampered with that random horn…

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

It wasn't random.

He groaned, letting his face fall into his hands. At least, he thought bitterly, he could feel most of his face again. He didn't see the concerned look that crossed Dean's face.

"What? What is it? Is it hurting you? Should I - "

"No. No. I'm fine. Other than the fact I have an _Archangel's Grace _sitting on my shoulder, I am _fine."_

"What?" Dean's voice almost demanded.

Sam dropped his hands and looked his brother square in the eye.

"Yeah, Dean. An Archangel's Grace. What other angel carries around a damn horn instead of, oh, I don't know, a harp?" He shrugged sarcastically.

A movement that felt very weird considering he couldn't _feel_ one of his shoulders.

Dean's jaw clenched.

"You're telling me that that -" Dean pointed angrily at the Grace on his shoulder, "- piece o' shit ball of light is _Gabriel?_"

"Yeah. Well, what's left of him, I imagine," he frowned.

"Gabriel?"

"Yes."

"_The_ douchiest Archangel we ever had the misfortune of coming across? And I just chased his sorry, _glowing_ ass around some tables and chairs because he wouldn't leave you, the guy he made suffer in Broward - Y'know what? Get offa there!" Dean growled.

Sam didn't have time to react to what his brother had planned. One second, he was thinking, 'Oh, please, don't,' and the next, Dean's hand had swatted Gabriel's Grace. It was a futile attempt to knock it from Sam's shoulder. The light undulated as if it were Jell-O, shaking off the blow. Dean yelped and withdrew his hand, waving it vigorously.

Guess he hadn't learned from the last time he'd smacked it.

And, just like last time, the Grace screeched angrily at Dean. Right in Sam's ear.

He cringed, jerking his head as far right - away from the noise - as it could go. Dean swore, slapping his hands over his ears. With an annoyed, frustrated groan, Sam placed his hand over the spiking blob of energy.

"_Please,_ just stop!" He complained.

With a trill, which was probably meant to be a growl, the Grace calmed down. Much to Sam's dismay, it turned its attention to the hand resting on it. Static tendrils reached out, tickling and shocking his palm. They wrapped around the back of his hand.

Pulling his hand away from his shoulder, he furled his nose in distaste at the sight of Gabriel's Grace clinging to it. He tried to flap it off, vigorously flailing his arm, but to no avail. The Grace merely jingled louder and remained where it was.

"How come he listens to you?" Dean grouched, rubbing at the palm of his own hand to get the tingling sensation to stop.

"Oh, I don't know, Dean," he grumbled. "Maybe because I didn't slap him into next week? _Twice_."

"Oh, so now you're taking _his_ side against me, too?"

"No. I just know an exercise in futility when I see one."

They glared at each other for a long moment before Dean shrugged the whole situation off. Or, he tried to. More like he was burying it under the mountains of other arguments and issues they'd had over the past few weeks. Again: Whatever. Their squabbles came second after figuring out what the hell to do with an Archangel's Grace.

"So." He began awkwardly. "What do we do with it? Him? Whatever?"

Dean rolled his shoulders, "I don't know. Can we use him? It? Y'know what? I'm going with 'it.' Can we use it? What did you do with-with Gadreel's leftover Grace?"

"Cas and I tried to hunt him down with it. Track him. We didn't have enough to complete the spell, though. It just kinda…died, after that."

"Hmm. Maybe Cas can use Gabriel's Grace? Boost his own batteries with it?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam replied, watching the Grace slither its way up his right arm. Ugh. "An Archangel's Grace may be _too_ powerful for Cas. Like plugging an American appliance into a European socket."

If he was being completely honest with how he felt about Cas taking Grace that wasn't the angel's, Sam would have added that he didn't approve of the concept at all. Any Grace Cas took into his body ran the risk of being rejected. Just like an organ transplant. Not that he had any proof to back up his hypothesis. Not yet. He hoped he never _would_ have proof. Yet, they were the Winchesters and Cas had never been known for good luck.

Sam kept his mouth shut about that, though. Despite everything, he didn't want to worry Dean about his only other friend in the world. Especially if his fears amounted to nothing.

"Well, we can't have him creepin' on us all day!" Dean snapped. "I mean, I'm glad he's - it's - favoring you instead of me. But, that whole numbing thing…."

Yeah, Sam really didn't have any desire to be Gabriel's perch for…however long Grace typically hung around for. Gadreel's - and Sam had to suppress a shudder at the thought - could have resided in him for who-knew how long if Cas hadn't gotten rid of it. And, if Gabriel's Grace had been in that horn for, hell, thousands of years probably… Yeah, no. He was pretty sure his shoulder would shrivel up and die from over stimulation of his nerve endings or something.

His mind traveled back to St. Bonaventure's and the souls that had been trapped there. The souls he had freed, allowing them to return back to their bodies.

"Get a jar," he commanded.

"What?"

"A jar. A container of some sort. We'll shove it in that."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. Kinda like what Uriel did to Anna's Grace, sorta." Dean frowned, "Think it'll need air holes?"

"_Dean._"

* * *

Sam was sitting in Bobby's house, researching something about ghouls. Which was impossible because Bobby was dead, his house long burnt to the ground. This was a major hint to Sam that everything around him was merely a dream.

With that figured out, he could have easily decided he didn't want to stay in it. He could have shifted his dreamscape to something that _didn't_ remind him of the father figure they'd lost. The old man whose soul he'd rescued from Hell and let move on to Heaven, where Bobby belonged.

Funny how rescuing souls just seemed to be his _thing_ all of a sudden.

However, Sam didn't change his dreamscape. In fact, he was quite pleased with it. It was nice to hear, see, _feel_ Bobby again, even if the old Hunter was just a copy his mind had created. It was refreshing to be hunting some fictional ghoul without having to worry about the real dangers that could come from such a hunt. It was refreshing not to have to think about angels and demons.

Sam enjoyed his respite. He smiled as Bobby and Dean bickered with one another over his brother's laziness when it came to research. He shook his head as Dean insulted the 'boring, smelly' books that Bobby had in his collection.

He'd missed this. He really had.

As he was turning a page in the book he was reading, Sam felt something shift. It was a tiny disturbance, one he probably wouldn't have felt if he'd been unaware he was dreaming, but it was enough to alert him to an intruder. He froze, shoulders tense, as he tried to get a feel for whatever was poking at his mind.

He didn't have to wait long. A brilliant, white light manifested itself a few feet beside him on his left. Sam slowly turned his head to face it.

It didn't appear to have much of a shape. It was just a tall, thin line of light with an amazingly bright aura.

Sam knew exactly what it was. He'd left Gabriel's Grace on the shelf in his room. He was supposed to have kept an eye on it, since Dean had groaned about not being able to sleep with that much light in his face. Apparently, keeping an Archangel's Grace near him while he slept was a bad idea.

Sam expected the Grace to do something. Something destructive. Something that would tear apart his little reprieve from reality. Or, maybe it would attack him. Give off a burst of energy brighter than the sun and blind him. It was, after all, _Gabriel_. They hadn't exactly treated him all that well when he'd been alive. Not that _he_ had treated _them_ well, either.

He was shocked when the Grace did none of those things. In a voice that sounded like a mixture of small bells, deep horns, and piercing static, it asked:

"_Where am I?"_

Sam's eyes widened at the effect that voice had on him, his gaze snapping away from the light of the Grace to lock on with the table littered with papers and books. Even in the dream, he could feel his bones vibrate. He didn't know if that was what an angel's true voice sounded like, or if his mind was just guesstimating, but it was intense.

And he had to answer it, didn't he? What choice did he have to refuse something that sounded like _that?_

"Um. In-in my head?" Sam half-asked. "Which is in a bunker. Some-somewhere in Kansas."

A burst of sound, like a roar, jolted him harshly, causing him to cover his ears. As if that would help.

"_WHERE AM __**I**__?" _The Grace demanded, the aura around it intensifying briefly as it stressed the last word.

It didn't take long for Sam to catch on to what the Grace had meant. _I_. Where am _I?_ Where was _Gabriel_, the being that the Grace had once resided in before it was stuck inside the Horn of Truth? Sam didn't know how to respond. He didn't know if what he _could_ say would upset the solid energy that had yet to move from its spot near the doorway.

Yet, he felt compelled to answer. Maybe it was the sheer power the thing's voice wielded, even for being only a fragment of Gabriel's true strength? Maybe it was a left over side-effect of the Horn of Truth? Maybe it was because Sam knew how much it sucked to not have closure? Whatever the case, Sam braced himself for any other horrendous sounds the Grace could give off. Just in case his words pissed it off more than they already had.

"You're dead."

The light flickered, as if surprised. Sam thought it was zapping out entirely for a second. It remained, however. The aura around it dimmed pitifully. He probably shouldn't have been so blunt.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Sam cringed as a piercing shriek shook the entirety of Bobby's house. With a brilliant flash, Gabriel's Grace vanished from the dream, leaving Sam trembling where he sat. Well. That could have gone better.


	2. Chapter 2

The Grace was still where he'd left it when he woke up the next morning, floating and undulating in a large mason jar Dean had pulled from who-knows-where in the kitchen.

Sam was pleasantly surprised that he'd been left to dream in peace. Typically, that wasn't the case when he had nightmares. Not that a majority of his dream could be considered a nightmare but, well, having the piss scared out of him usually produced enough adrenaline to snap him wide awake.

Not this time.

He narrowed his eyes at the innocent-looking light as it bobbed and jingled quietly. He briefly wondered if his sound sleeping had been caused by Gabriel's Grace. Similar to how Gadreel had… How he'd kept Sam mentally sedated with dreamscapes whenever he ran around in Sam's body.

Yet, upon further inspection, that line of thinking didn't make much sense. After all, the Grace still resided within the mason jar. It couldn't physically get out of it (and into him) unless he released it. So, there was no point in pulling that trick on him.

Maybe he'd just…not woken up for no particular reason at all. Normal happened sometimes, right? Sorta normal. Minus the Archangel. Yeah.

Sam didn't bother to change out of his sleeping clothes. Nor did he bother to fix his hair, brush his teeth, or shower. He simply rolled out of bed, snatched the jar off the shelf, and stormed down to his brother's room. It was just before sunrise; Dean probably wasn't up yet.

The Grace barely reacted at all. There were no loud complaints as Sam jostled it around with each one of his steps. Not that he could really jostle a floating piece of energy. It was doing a good job of not being affected by inertia.

It was, however, touching the sides of the jar. Those odd tendrils of light it had used on him before were reaching out towards his hands. Like a plasma globe.

Sam could still feel the Grace despite the glass. But the numbing sensation didn't occur. Only a faint feeling of static and heat tickled his palms. At least shoving the Grace in a glass insulator had been a good idea. Even if leaving it in his room overnight hadn't been.

Dean was, sure enough, still sleeping when Sam barged into his room. His brother jerked stiffly, hand reaching for the knife hiding under his pillow, before Dean recognized the intruder was him and not some monster.

Sam didn't wait for a greeting and he didn't give one. He walked over to the chair beside the wall and slammed the jar of Grace down into it.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean's morning-hoarse voice asked him as he scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Sam pointed forcefully at Gabriel's Grace, "It's staying with you. I'm done. Just cover it with something if you're so worried about your eyes."

"Dude?! What the hell! Sam!"

* * *

Much to his chagrin, Gabriel's Grace found its way back into his room. He wasn't sure when Dean had put it back on his shelf. Probably when he'd gone for a grocery run and left Dean to man the Abaddon research.

(He, himself, had been researching more about Gabriel's Horn, desperately trying to find a way to shove the Grace back in so he wouldn't have to deal with it or the paranoia that it brought him.)

Regardless of how it got there, it was there, and Sam glared at it as he clenched his jaw in silent rage at his brother.

Damn Dean. He had no idea why Gabriel's Grace put Sam off.

Of course, if Sam'd actually _tell_ his brother why he didn't want it in his room, Dean might understand. But, then again, he might not. He certainly hadn't been understanding about a lot of things lately. Whatever.

"If you invade my dreams again," Sam warned the light, "I'm going to kill you. I will find a way. I don't know how, but I will."

The Grace merely continued to jingle the same, harmless noise it always gave off. Sam was starting to think that that was the 'content' sound it made. An audible version of the electrical impulses of a mind at rest. Or, Grace at rest.

He sighed, changed out of his flannel shirt and jeans, and put on a pair of sleep pants. The entire time it felt like eyes were watching him. He knew they weren't. He knew Grace didn't possess eyes. But his nerves were too far on edge. It _felt_ like he was being watched, and that's all that mattered.

He quickly crawled under the covers of his a-little-too-firm bed, faced the wall opposite of the Grace, and tried to get to sleep.

Sam didn't know when he reached that goal. One moment, his mind had been running in circles - Gabriel, Gadreel, Abaddon, Crowley, Metatron, Cas, Dean, Gabriel - and then the next, he was in a dream.

This time, he was at a lake. He vaguely remembered the lake. A case he and Dean had had years ago. A vengeful spirit of a young boy who'd accidentally been drown by his friends. His body had been left to float away and be forgotten, his bike buried to hide the crime.

Man, that had been a messed-up case. Many of their hunts were. But it always felt worse when children were the victims.

The dock and lake stretched out before him, the lake house behind him and towards his left. A forest was beyond that.

In short: Not much of anything to do in this dreamscape. Sam looked around and couldn't find anyone. Which was odd to him. Generally, his dreams of former cases contained the people that he'd met on said cases.

Oh, well. He could always go watch the water lap at the dock's supports to entertain himself. Maybe the dream would pick up later.

He sat down at the foot of the dock, letting his feet dangle over the edge. He contemplated going for a swim, until he remembered the vengeful spirit wasn't too fond of that. He really had no desire for a seemingly peaceful dream to turn into a nightmare just because he was getting bored with the stillness of it.

Minutes passed, uneventfully. The idea to go pick up rocks and try to skim them across the water popped into his head more than once. But he never got around to moving. He just sat there. Waited, almost. And it wasn't until he realized he _was_ waiting that he noticed _why._

He was waiting for Gabriel's Grace. And, when he realized _that_, he felt it.

First came the sense that something was wrong. Something was off. Sam sighed heavily. Then came the pinprick of light hovering a few feet in front of him. The light grew bigger and brighter, causing him to squint. Soon, the same, thin light with radiating aura from the night before appeared in its entirety. It hovered about a foot above the lake's water, casting a gold-tinted light upon it.

"You wouldn't be _Gabriel's_ Grace unless you did the _exact opposite_ of what I told you to do, would you?" Sam griped.

The Grace didn't respond for almost a minute. Sam was about to leave until its voice spoke, sounding like pleasant bells.

"_You told me to come."_

"No," Sam stressed. "I told you _not _to come. In fact, I distinctly remember saying I'd kill you if you came again. Guess what I'm researching tomorrow?"

The sound of static and a deep roar pierced Sam's ears, causing him to cringe as his nails dug into the wooden planks beneath him.

"_After that. You told me to come. I came."_

"I did not - " Sam paused, the problem dawning on him. "You heard my thoughts about waiting on you. And so you showed up."

"_Yes."_ The voice had returned to the bells.

"First, you invade my dreams. Then, you read my mind. Is there any line you won't cross?"

The Grace was silent again. It didn't take long for Sam to figure out that it probably wasn't going to answer him. He scoffed and shook his head, looking away and towards the shoreline.

"Angels." He spat.

"_Lucifer."_

"What?" Sam asked, his head snapping back around to stare at the light hovering in front of him.

"_I felt Lucifer. Before. I thought you were him," _Gabriel's Grace replied with static and a whine.

Sam didn't know what to think. What did that mean? How was he like Lucifer? Because he was tainted? Years ago, Lucifer had said they were similar. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but a part of him had. Had Lucifer been right?

"_I was wrong."_

"I don't -" He was afraid to ask, but he had to. "What do you mean? Why did you _feel_ Lucifer?"

"_Grace."_

Sam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Grace. Like Gadreel had left leftover Grace inside him. Because angels sometimes left it behind in the Vessels.

It wasn't unbelievable to think that an Archangel's Grace would have lingered longer around his soul, or in his body, than a normal angel's had. Especially since his soul had been trapped in the Cage for so long with Lucifer…

He placed his head in his hands, scrubbing at his face in frustration.

Everything was fucked up. Everything. Whenever he felt like he'd moved past all the shit he'd been through, something new would come along and dredge up old, unwanted memories. He was beyond tired of it all. And the worst part was that he felt like he didn't have an anchor anymore. No one to talk to about it.

Dean hadn't been the best pillar of support, though he'd tried, and now… Well, now he probably wouldn't want to hear it.

And Cas? Cas was off trying to find information about Metatron and Gadreel. He was handling the angel front. Quite independently. Sam wasn't even sure that, if he called, Castiel would answer. The angel - fallen angel - was very good at ignoring everything around him when he was focused.

No, that wasn't the complete reason for Sam's hesitation. He was more afraid that Cas would see his name come up on the caller I.D. and he'd ignore him just because he was Sam. It was probably a completely unfounded fear, but it still nagged at him every time he scrolled through his phone's contacts.

A light shone from behind his hands, coloring his field of vision red as he stared into them. Reluctantly drawing his face up, he wasn't _too_ surprised to see the source of the light was Gabriel's Grace. However, he _was_ surprised to see that it had flown, or hovered, so close to him that it was practically in his face.

Sam yelped loudly, fell back onto the dock, and did a mad scramble to get away from the Grace. Once on his feet, he angrily raked his hands through his hair and took a breath to steady his nerves. Whirling back around to glare at the light, Sam snapped:

"Personal. Space!" He flung his arm to the side for emphasis as he demanded, "Do you have any idea what that is?!"

Gabriel's Grace flickered briefly before it pulled itself back from the dock a foot or two.

"_You felt lost." _Static.

"Stop reading my mind!"

"_I'm not." _A horn blast.

"Like hell you're not! You just admitted you did, earlier!"

"_Projected thoughts. No need to read." _An almost _smug_ collection of musical notes.

Sam threw his head back and whined in irritation at the sky, clenching his fists for want of punching the damn Trickster in the face. Only, this wasn't the Trickster. It wasn't _Gabriel._ There was nothing tangible to hit.

He couldn't clock a sunbeam.

Sure, Dean had smacked the shit out of the _actual_ Grace, but the dream version wasn't the same. It didn't look the same. It didn't behave the same. Plus, it was hovering above a lake that Sam had no desire to launch himself into just to try and punch a dick.

"You know what?" Sam asked sarcastically as he lowered his head to stare at the Grace. "If you're going to be such an insufferable prick like Gabriel, why don't you at least bother to _sound_ like him?"

"_I do sound like me."_

"No, talk _normal_."

"_I am."_

"No -" Sam took yet another deep breath. "No, you're talking _angel_. And it's hurting my ears. So, if you're going to continue to pester me and ignore me when I tell you to leave me the hell alone, why don't you try doing it in a way that's less painful, hmm? Be a little more accommodating to your host?"

The sudden foghorn blast that rocked Sam, the dock, the lake, and even the nearby forest, had not been expected. With a blinding flash of energy, Gabriel's Grace simply…left. It left Sam furiously rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, trying to get rid of the dull ache and black spot now in the center of his vision. It left him with the faint impression that he'd somehow managed to piss it off and that it was going to follow his wishes, finally, if only because it desired to give him the cold shoulder.

"Yeah, sure," Sam grumbled, blinking rapidly, his surroundings still a blur. "Make it all about you."


	3. Chapter 3

"Sam!"

The sound of Dean's voice shouting his name jerked him awake. He groaned, rolling onto his stomach. Burying his face into his pillow, Sam had half a mind to ignore his brother's call. Sure, the lake dream had been pretty boring and mostly a recap of the events that had happened there. _After_ Gabriel's Grace had flown away, anyway. But at least it had been a dream. It had been sleep. Sleep that he desperately wished he'd never been pulled out of.

"Sam!" Dean hollered again, his voice sounding closer. Great, that meant he was coming. "Sam, I swear to God, if you don't come collect your fucking Grace, so help me!"

"It's not _mine, _Dean!" He shouted back, grabbing the second pillow on his bed and shoving it over his head.

It took him a second or two to catch what Dean was inferring. Collect the Grace. Why would he need to collect it if it was already in a mason jar in his room?

Sam dreaded to look, but he did anyway. He slowly tilted his face to look at the shelf along the far wall. His breath faltered a little when his eyes met the broken pieces of glass that once formed the jar.

The Grace was missing. Broken out at some point while he'd been asleep. And, apparently, it was causing havoc _somewhere_ in the Bunker.

Shit.

Sam threw the covers off of himself, leapt out of bed, and made for the door. Dean intercepted him, mouth open to most likely shout his name again. His brother looked livid. Dean's mouth snapped shut with an audible click, glare firmly planted on his face.

"Where is it?" Sam demanded.

"Well, _last_ time I saw it, it was zipping around my damn head like some manic xylophone of light. Is there any particularly reason you felt the need to sic it on me? I mean, yeah, you've -"

"I didn't release it!" Sam exclaimed, shouldering past Dean to step into the hallway and begin his search for the rogue Grace. "It broke the glass of the jar while I was asleep."

"Oh, yeah, that's safe," Dean snarked as he followed him. "'Let's put it in a jar, Dean. Made out of glass. Which angels are prone to break.' Real smooth, Sam."

"If I remember correctly," he threw back, "you agreed it was a good idea. 'Like Anna's Grace.'"

"Shut up."

"Real smooth, Dean."

"Shut up!"

Both men stopped short at the entrance to Dean's room.

Sam was amazed to find the place intact. He figured, as pissed as he'd made Gabriel's Grace, it would have trashed anything it could. But, it hadn't. Come to think of it, other than the mason jar, the Grace hadn't touched anything in his room, either. At least, he didn't think. He hadn't really taken a good look before hopping out of bed.

"Hunh," Sam huffed in pleased confusion.

Dean, on the other hand, was still thinking business.

"Oh, great. It's gone. Perfect. _Now what?_"

"The Horn?" Sam asked, looking down at his brother.

"You think it'd go back in it?"

Sam shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe it's angry enough to want to go 'home?' Where'd you move the horn to?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably and refused to make eye contact with him.

He hadn't moved the Horn. They had decided to put the Horn of Truth somewhere else, anywhere else, where it couldn't be easily accessed. It was a _weapon of Heaven_ for Chrissakes. It shouldn't be left on a random shelf in a storage room for anyone else to come along, accidentally touch it, and do some weird, supernatural shit that had no business being done. Dean had said he'd move the horn, since the thing had 'activated' whenever Sam'd touched it, and he hadn't done that.

Sam's jaw clenched as he tilted his head at Dean.

"You didn't move the Horn." He accused.

"I was distracted, okay?!" Dean shouted, trying to explain himself. "This whole Abaddon-Crowley thing has my head all screwy. I…forgot about the Horn."

Sam wanted to berate him. He really did. But, he wasn't going to. Because he knew how stressed out Dean was. He had a strong suspicion that the Mark of Cain on his brother's arm was not helping matters at all. Sam could understand Dean's priorities were focused elsewhere.

With an aggravated sigh, Sam turned on his heels and made for the storage room.

Unfortunately, Gabriel's Grace wasn't there, either. They entered the room and there was no glowing light tinkling _anywhere_. Sam even risked grabbing the Horn, pulling it from its resting space, in an attempt to draw the Grace out of hiding should it be in it.

Which, apparently, it wasn't. Sam didn't feel the same shock he had two days ago.

"Strike two," Dean muttered from the doorway, arms and ankles crossed as he leaned against the frame. "Again: Now what?"

"I don't know where else it would go," Sam replied, shrugging helplessly.

Dean didn't look amused at his confession. His brother sighed, looking out into the hallway.

"Okay, well, that's just _dandy_. What the hell did you say to piss it off?"

"What the hell makes you think _I_ pissed it off?"

"Uh, because it was in your room?" Dean remarked sarcastically. "And you said it was pissed. And two and two makes four."

Sam opened his mouth to retort. To explain to Dean that he wasn't allowed to blame him for sticking up for himself to a damn piece of Archangel Grace that didn't know how to stay out of people's heads after being expressly told to back off, and that he wasn't sorry it got its little 'feelings' hurt. However, he never got a word out of his mouth.

A muffled screech rent the air, causing him and his brother to flinch slightly. The sound of glass shattering somewhere in the bunker solidified his suspicions on the source of the noise.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. Pushing himself from the doorframe, he began storming down the hallway in the direction the sounds had come from. "I swear to everything _ever_ if you are IN MY KITCHEN!"

Sam rolled his eyes but jogged after Dean, Horn still clutched in his right hand.

Their destination turned out to be one of the bathrooms. An odd place for the Grace to hide, Sam thought, but there it'd gone.

The loose, undulating streak of light was hovering in the center of the room. The mirror lay in pieces, some of it had landed in the sink, other pieces littered the floor. The old lights in the ceiling had busted. Both the shower head and the sink were erupting water.

Dean raised his hands to indicate the scene before them as he shook his head, "Why!"

The Grace turned around to face them, which was an odd looking effect. One that set Sam's nerves on edge. He was, after all, the one that had upset the thing. _And_ he was holding the Horn of Truth. He figured he would be the first person it would try to attack.

Gabriel's Grace didn't attack, however. It didn't really do anything save for changing its shape, pulling itself into a tighter ball. A ball of Grace with spiked waves. They'd seen that behavior before, when Dean had hit it onto the ground. Yeah, it was livid.

"Care to explain yourself?" Dean asked, his tone both joking and menacing.

Surprisingly, the Grace tried to answer him. A series of musical notes and high-pitched squeals that bordered on painful were the response. Naturally, neither Dean nor Sam understood what it was trying to say. Dean slowly looked over his shoulder to give Sam a forced smile.

"I can't tell what it's saying, _or_ if it's mocking us or not," he said.

The Grace shrieked at that. Dean slapped his hands over his ears. Sam tried, though the Horn blocked him from doing so effectively.

The Horn.

Sam had a plan.

"Hey!" He shouted, thrusting the Horn of Truth in front of him. Which looked a bit ridiculous considering the length of the thing.

The Grace quieted, collapsing further into itself, causing its light to brighten slightly.

Sam had its attention. Good.

"Yeah. You remember what this is." Sam spoke, earning a confused look from Dean. "Now, you have two options. You either behave and do what we tell you to do - and that includes our little discussion from before - or you go back in the horn and we shove you in some dank, dark basement until the end of time. Okay?"

Only Gabriel's Grace could make a celesta sound pissed and resigned at the same time. Dean's eyes were darting between him and the ball of light twinkling before them. Sam gave him a questioning tilt of his head.

"What the hell are you? The damn Grace Whisperer, or something?"

Sam frowned at him.

"Yes, Dean. I'm the Grace Whisperer. Now will you go get me another jar, or something, to shove it back in?"

Gabriel's Grace trilled grumpily.

Sam glared at it, "Not. A word. From you."

"Uh, Sammy," Dean began. "Remember how we _just_ went back and forth over the whole _glass_ jar thing? …and you want to put it back in that type of container? That it can easily break out of with its Shriek of Death?"

"Then get a milk jug."

The Grace 'spoke' angrily at him.

Sam threw up his hand with a firm, "Ssh!"

* * *

Gabriel's Grace had been placed in a big, old prune juice bottle Dean had found hiding in the back of the fridge.

Both of them had known whom the bottle'd belonged to. Both of them had decided not to bring that up.

The Horn, on the other hand, was left out in the open in the library. Sam had plans of studying it for later.

Dean and he had tried their best to clean up the bathroom. Turning off the water proved the hardest part, but they figured it out. New fixtures needed to be installed if they ever wanted to use that bathroom again, however.

…But that would cost money and take effort, and so they'd decided to hell with that. They'd just use a different bathroom.

The rest of their day had been spent doing research, as usual. Sam wasn't sure what _Dean_ had been researching, only the basics, but _he'd_ been busying trying to discern whether or not the Horn of Truth could actually be used as a weapon. Preferably against angels. Angels named Gadreel and Metatron.

Unfortunately, his research proved fruitless. The only thing Gabriel's Horn seemed good for was judging people by raising only a select few from the dead during the Apocalypse. Or something. Too bad the Apocalypse ended years ago, ironically with the aid of Gabriel himself.

So much for that idea.

When Sam and Dean finally turned in for the night, more out of boredom than actual fatigue, they left Gabriel's Grace sitting in the library. It was not happy with their decision. It - in its strange 'voice' - wailed after them. Like a child left behind by their parents. Sam ignored it with smug satisfaction.

He went to bed with an overwhelming sense of contentment. No way could Gabriel's Grace interfere with his mind, his dreams, with so much space between them. Surely, the Bunker had some form of supernatural warding that would short-circuit whatever mojo the Grace had been using to get inside his head.

He was wrong.

His dream that night took place in a forest. All forests looked the same to him, really. But, this one he remembered by name. Lost Creek National Forest. The place he and Dean had hunted a wendigo shortly after Jess' death. They'd saved a young man and (most of) the group that had gone to save him. …Of course, Crowley had murdered that young man - Tommy - to get at them.

And, oh, how that got to Sam. He wasn't entirely sure he'd ever, completely, get over that guilt.

The dream played out similar to how it happened years ago. Word for word, action for action. Until they were standing in the clearing, the wendigo calling to them with a human's voice. And then, just like that, everyone was gone. They vanished completely, supplies and all.

Sam spun around quickly, beyond surprised at the turn of events. Something was wrong. He felt that familiar sensation traveling up his spine. He stilled, shoulders tensing when he realized what the culprit was.

The brilliant light coming into being behind him confirmed his suspicions. Jaw clenched, he turned to see Gabriel's Grace standing beside a thick tree.

He was surprised by the form it had taken. It was still a white light, that hadn't changed. However, instead of looking like a thin line with an aura, Gabriel's Grace was now shaped like a person. Its feet actually touched the ground, instead of hovering.

Sam scoffed at the sight. Well, at least it was trying to appear _normal_. Even if it was still off a few degrees.

He grinned sardonically as he accused, "You _would_ find a way to get into my dreams again."

To his surprise, the Grace gave a small shrug. Sam was frankly _shocked _when it responded in a very familiar voice.

"Magic." The Grace sing-songed, almost taunting. Like Gabriel.

"You know what?" Sam asked. "You're an asshole. You were back then, and you still are now."

"Oh, I'm the asshole?" The Grace moved away from the tree, walking to circle Sam. "You pull me out of the Horn of Truth, you hit me, you capture me in a glass jar, you tell me I'm dead, you call me only to insult me and demand things of me that I can't do - "

"What?" Sam stressed. "When did I -?"

"- and then you shove me in a _prune juice bottle_ and leave me by myself. So, really, who is the asshole here?"

Sam paused and tried to replay all of the Grace's complaints as it continued to circle around him.

"Okay, look, " he began firmly. "First of all, I didn't _mean_ to pull you out of the Horn. That was an accident. Second of all, _Dean_ hit you. Not me. Third, we 'captured' you because you were hurting me."

The Grace stopped walking at that and bowed its head, an action that made Sam stop for a second.

It was strange, finally seeing emotions played out, at least nonverbally, by the Grace. He hadn't thought it could _feel_ emotions, really. It was just a power source for an Archangel, right? Yet, there it was, looking the very definition of cowed.

"I didn't mean to." It mumbled.

"Yeah, well, you did. So, we put you somewhere where you couldn't do that anymore. You invaded my dreams, not once, but three times now. Us humans? We have this thing we call _personal space_. That means there are lines you shouldn't cross when it comes to privacy." Sam pointed at the light as he stated, "You crossed them."

"Well, how else am I supposed to know?!" The Grace shouted with a wave of its hand.

Its true voice broke free for a split second with its outburst, causing the trees around them to sway. Sam managed not to flinch at the display of anger. Or frustration. Maybe both. He was unsure. But there was a passion and sincerity in Gabriel's voice when he spoke now, and - against his wishes - Sam found himself giving in to it, his curiosity smothering his rage bit by bit.

"Know what?" Sam practically pleaded.

"Everything!" The Grace stressed. "The last thing I remember is being a part of _me_. Being inside the Horn of Truth and waiting for _me_ to come back. But I'm not coming back, am I? Because I'm dead! _You_ told me that, which means _you_ know what happened to me. You know what I was _after_. What I became, what I was like. You have memories of me!"

Sam's heart was pounding in his ears, his back pressed firmly against the tree behind him. Gabriel's Grace had stalked towards him during its tirade. Now, it was mere inches in front of him, a being of pure light and wrath and other emotions Sam was forced to recognize it was capable of feeling.

Even without a pair of eyes, he knew the Grace was staring into his, begging for recognition and respect.

"You told me to sound like me, but I had no idea what that sounded like. How else was I supposed to figure it out? _Any of it?_"

Sam's breath faltered.

This was wrong. So very wrong. Because the being in front of him wasn't Gabriel. Not the Gabriel he knew. This wasn't the Trickster. It was something else. A part of the Archangel that came from _before_. However early 'before' was.

It had no memory of what Gabriel had done to him, to them, or to others. It was a blank slate, almost, that he had no right to call names and hate. _Because it wasn't Gabriel_.

"You could have just asked," Sam choked, grasping at straws as his mind whirled.

"How?" Gabriel's Grace asked sincerely. "You don't speak angel, remember? And that's all I _could_ speak."

"You're not speaking it now." He replied dumbly.

The Grace actually snorted at him as it took a step back, "Yeah, well, you left me in a room with the two o' you all day while your brains thought thinky thoughts. I picked up on a few things."

Sam frowned, rolling his shoulders to try and get rid of some of the tension he was feeling.

"I wish you'd stop reading my - our - minds." He grumbled.

"I told you before: It's not reading. It's not intrusive at all."

"How does that work?"

"A naked man runs across your field of vision, what d'ya do?"

Sam opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, brows alternating between raised and furrowed as he replayed that question. _What? _That was the strangest way to express that idea he'd ever heard. But, what did he expect, really? Gabriel's Grace was a version of the Archangel, after all. Weirdness must have been hardwired into the guy.

"Right. So. I thought about you all day long and you picked up on your old vocal patterns from my thoughts? That's how it works?" Sam asked skeptically.

He side-stepped around the glowing body of the Grace and sat down on a nearby, fallen tree.

The Grace appeared to watch him before answering, tilting its head in that way angels do. It unnerved Sam, a little. The whole situation with the Grace unnerved him. However, it was better to push that feeling aside to get answers out of the thing. It was, obviously, getting answers from him, whether he wanted it to or not.

"That's how it works," Gabriel's Grace replied. "Skipping a lot of physics that I'm not so sure you'd understand entirely. Not that that's a bad thing. Just facts."

"Uh-huh," Sam mumbled. He wiped his palms on his jeans before asking, "So, what do you wanna know?"

The Grace was silent a moment. It was reading him. Sam could feel it. Picking up whatever errant thoughts drifted beyond his control. God, that was beyond annoying.

"You want me gone," it stated.

Sam shrugged, "You can't blame me."

"No," The Grace admitted, surprising Sam. "But I can wonder."

"Look. Just ask your questions. Please."

Gabriel's Grace cast its gaze to the forest floor. It looked around. It _stalled_. But not for long. With a sigh, it made its way over to him. Sam tensed, afraid it would decide to sit beside him. Which it did, but on the far end of the log. Far enough away from him for him to relax again.

The way it sat was loose. Legs apart, hands clasped in front of it, head bowed. Sam frowned at the display. Whatever it wanted to know, it seemed bothered by it. He had a pretty good idea what it was going to ask.

"How did I die?"

That was it. Cut to the chase. Sam sighed despite himself.

"You want the long version or the short version?" He asked.

"That bad, huh?"

"There's a good way?" Sam tried to joke.

"Touché. I guess go with short version?"

"Lucifer."

Gabriel's Grace snapped its head to look at him as it sat up. It, obviously, hadn't been expecting that response. And it didn't like what it was hearing.

"I think you might need to go into the long version," it said slowly, voice wavering.

Sam looked away. He focused on the ground beneath his feet. He focused on his shoes. His pant legs. His hands, clasping in front of him as the Grace's had. This whole conversation was going to be uncomfortable and he really didn't want to have it. But, well… No turning back now, huh?

"Um. Lucifer. Lucifer got out of the Cage," he began.

"The Apocalypse has already started?" The Grace questioned, voice giving away its disbelief.

"It's already ended," Sam corrected, looking over at it.

Gabriel's Grace shook its head, "That…That's not possible. Everything would be _gone_."

"Yeah, that's kinda what you said last time."

He could feel the Grace boring holes into his face with its gaze. Sam bit at his lip, unable to keep his next words from slipping out.

"I let Lucifer out of his box."

"You?" Then the Grace inhaled sharply. "_You're his Vessel._ You're his True Vessel. That's why I sensed Lucifer on you."

"Yes," he replied. "And shit happened. You tried to stand up to Lucifer. You tried to kill him to save us and keep the Apocalypse from happening. You got killed."

Gabriel's Grace was shaking its head again. It looked away from him and stared at the ground. Sam imagined its eyes darting back and forth in anxiousness. If it'd _had_ eyes.

"I wouldn't do that." It said quietly. "I wouldn't stand up to him. He's my brother and I - heh - I'm a _coward. _I couldn't even get them to stop fighting before."

The Grace faced him again, "Do you have any idea what it's like trying to stand between Michael and Lucifer? To have the two most powerful angels in all of Creation glaring down at you because you had the _gall_ to even think you knew better than they did? Nooo. No. I wouldn't do that again. Not on my life, I wouldn't. I'd…"

"Leave? Run?" Sam ventured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah. You did that, too."

The Grace dropped its head into its hands. Sam frowned. Everything seemed so strange, talking to a part of Gabriel that didn't even _know_ Gabriel. Or, rather yet, a part of Gabriel that _truly_ knew him. Maybe it was _Sam_ who didn't know Gabriel. He only knew the Trickster.

"I hurt you, didn't I?" The Grace mumbled through its glowing hands.

"Yes," Sam answered truthfully. "You hurt a lot of people."

"That's why you hate me."

"…That's why I hated a part of you, yes."

"I take it a lot of people didn't like me."

Sam studied the Grace. Its shape. How slumped its shoulders were. He pictured what Gabriel would look like in that same pose. He pictured those eyes he remembered seeing, reflecting the light of the Holy Fire at his feet.

"I don't think you even liked yourself."

Gabriel's Grace dropped its hands at that. But it didn't answer. It didn't look at him. They sat in the dream forest, listening to the sounds of nature around them.

Sam wondered what the Grace was thinking. Was it going to ask another question? Delve further into Gabriel's past regarding the Apocalypse, or ask about something else entirely?

It did none of those things. After what felt like five minutes of nothing, no talking or movement, it finally spoke again.

"You're getting a phone call."

"What?"


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of his ringtone didn't startle him nearly as much as the loud, harsh buzz that came from the phone as it vibrated across the nightstand. Sam didn't have to roll far to snatch the device off the table. He answered without checking to see who was calling.

"H-hello?" He croaked, voice giving away that he'd been dead asleep.

"Sam?"

It was Castiel's gravelly voice on the other end of the line. That woke Sam up much faster.

Cas hadn't called in a while. Too long, really. So, if he was contacting them, that meant he'd probably found something, or he needed help. Sam prayed it wasn't the last reason.

Throwing the covers off of himself, Sam got to his feet. The clock on the wall read just before five in the morning.

He dragged his free hand down his face and walked to his dresser to begin searching for some clothes. He was up now. May as well start the day. Even if he still felt exhausted. Probably the Grace's fault. Mentally tiring him out and all.

"Hey, Cas," he answered. "What's up?"

There was a brief silence followed by a slightly hesitant, "I believe I'm supposed to answer, 'Not much,' to that question?"

Sam snorted, "Or, you could answer with the truth."

"I'm still tracking Metatron," Castiel began. "Gadreel. And…angels are still dying."

Sam frowned at the tone of voice Cas was using. He may not have had many _favorable_ run-ins with angels, personally, but he understood Cas was talking about his family. His people. Far be it from him to make some snappish, off-color comment about 'dicks with wings' like his brother would jump at the chance to.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, yanking a pair of dark jeans from the dresser.

"With Bartholomew dead, other factions are growing in strength. Others are forming. It's chaos." Cas sighed, "Then again, when isn't it?"

Pulling a grey undershirt from another drawer, Sam mulled that information around in his mind. They hadn't known Bartholomew had been killed. Cas hadn't told them. He rarely disclosed any information regarding his 'hunts.' Yet, Sam knew that was because the angel just didn't think to, so it didn't really bother him. When Cas took things into his own hands, he took things into his own hands. He was a lot like them, Sam supposed.

"We haven't had much luck on the angel front," Sam offered. "We've been more focused on Abaddon and - "

Sam snapped his mouth shut far too slowly. He wasn't supposed to mention the Mark of Cain. Or Crowley. Or Dean's odd behavior. Not because he didn't want to, but because he felt that was Dean's business. Dean should be the one to tell Castiel what was going on _with Dean._ Not him.

But, he'd done messed up. No way would Cas have not caught that he'd let something slip. Sam let his arms drop to his sides, clothes dangling towards the floor, as he banged his head weakly against the dresser. Time to think of a diversion and quickly. He brought the phone back to his ear.

"And what?" Castiel asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," he lied expertly. "So, why did you call, Cas?"

"And. What. Sam?" Castiel repeatedly, slowly and somewhat more growly.

He sighed, "You first."

A second of silence passed before Castiel admitted, "I wanted to see how you were feeling."

That threw Sam. Like, yeah, he thought they'd grown closer after their little heart-to-heart regarding Sam's overwhelming desire to be a martyr and Cas' unwillingness for that to happen, but he never expected the angel to continue to _worry _about him. At least, not explicitly. Not with a call at five in the morning while in the middle of a case. There was always going to be an underlying feeling of worry in their line of business. Yet, to have someone go out of their way to ask… Felt weird. Appreciated, but weird.

"I'm fine."

"Sam."

"Really, Cas." Sam smiled at his friend's stubbornness. Putting his phone on speaker, he placed it on his bed and then began to change clothes. "I'm fine. I'm back to feeling like regular ol' me."

"Good. I'm glad. …_And what,_ Sam?"

"You're not going to drop that, are you?"

"No."

The idea came to him suddenly, and he had no idea how Castiel would react to it, but… It would serve his purpose.

"We found something," Sam replied, buttoning his pants.

"…I take it you want me to ask, 'What sort of something?'"

He smirked, reaching for his shirt, "You remember that Horn of Gabriel we tried to get you to track years ago?"

"Yes. And I couldn't find it. Anywhere."

"Yeah, well, that was because it was in the Bunker."

"What?" Castiel asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "You found it? _There?_"

"Yep," Sam said, head finally making its way out of his shirt. "Purely by accident, too."

He picked his phone up off the bed, turning it off speaker. Cas was quiet, though, and he knew it was because his friend was thinking. Probably strategizing. Coming up with a plan to utilize the Heavenly Weapon. It's what _he_ would have done. It's what he'd _tried _to do. Sam could hear paper shuffling around from the other end of the line.

"Do you know if the Men of Letters ever documented what it does?" Castiel questioned, very much in business mode.

"Uh. No, not really. I mean, their files just had the same stuff you'd expect to find out in the Internet. Horn of Gabriel. Resurrect the dead. Coming of Christ. Stuff like that."

"Revelations."

"Yeah. I guess they decided it would be a good idea _not_ to blow it, for fear of Judgment Day."

Sam left his room, his destination the kitchen. Normally, he'd go for a run first, but, well. He didn't feel up to it.

No, instead, there was a cup of coffee with his name on it.

"Wise decision," Castiel murmured. "However, the Apocalypse is over and Gabriel is dead. Perhaps now would be just as good a time as any to give it a try."

"You're serious?" Sam asked, surprised at the resolve in Cas' voice.

"We're running low on options, Sam. And I'm running out of ideas. Perhaps the Horn has some latent power in it. It was meant to be a tool of an Archangel, after all."

Sam nibbled his bottom lip at that. Latent power. Yeah, it had some latent power to it alright. Gabriel's Grace chilling out inside it without a care in the world. Grace that still packed a punch, despite however many millennia it'd been separated from the Archangel. Grace that held an imprint of the old Gabriel's personality and memories. The Archangel Gabriel. Someone Sam didn't know. Someone, much to his dismay, that Sam was starting to wish he knew.

Damn him.

He stopped walking, mind turning as he warred with himself. He didn't want to tell Cas about the Grace. Not yet. He was afraid of the reaction Castiel would have towards it. He was mostly afraid that Cas would want to use it, and that it would, consequently, burn him up. Sam'd already given Dean that warning. He didn't want to have to do Cas the same. Didn't want Cas to stubbornly demand the Grace anyway. Because he _would_ hand it over.

Yet, he didn't want to lie to Cas, either. Lies never ended well for any of them. He sighed.

"How does Grace work?" He asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Castiel did seem stunned, since it took a second for him to respond, "What do you mean? Why do you ask?"

"I was the one who found the Horn. I touched it by accident. It zapped me."

"It…_zapped_ you?"

"Yeah. Only, it wasn't the Horn. It was…Grace."

"Grace?"

"Yes."

"I don't think I understand. Are you saying that an angel's Grace zapped you because you touched the Horn of Gabriel? That - "

"Gabriel's Grace was in the Horn and it zapped me, yeah. Then…it did other things."

"What - "

"Nothing. Nothing bad. Just. It threw a fit, basically. Chased me around the Bunker because it sensed old Grace on me and got confused. It thought - "

"Grace can't think anything," Castiel interrupted. "It's nothing but a-a power source for an angel. Whatever you're dealing with isn't Grace."

"But it is?" Sam half-asked, growing unsure of himself and the situation. "Like, it says it is. That it was a part of Gabriel, and stuff."

Now, the pause that came from Cas only caused him to worry further. The other sighed into the phone. Not in exasperation, but more like…thoughtfulness. Sam didn't know of many people that could portray that feeling with a sigh, of all things.

"How is it speaking to you?" Castiel asked carefully.

Oh, great. That was something else Sam didn't want to mention. This conversation really got away from him, and quick. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, eyes darting around the hallway to make sure Dean wouldn't pop out at any second. The last thing he wanted was his brother thinking him and Gabriel's Grace had something going on. Something _fishy_. The kind of something that would have Dean up in arms and more pissed off than he already was.

"My dreams," Sam spoke quietly. "It started three nights ago. At first, all it talked like was weird noises. I guess that was its true voice? Or some weird approximation of it. Anyway, I could understand it. Hurt a little, but I could hear what it was saying. Then, last night, it sounded like… It sounded like Gabriel. Started looking more humanoid. Said it wanted to know more about itself, about _Gabriel_.

"Cas, I don't know what's going on. And I didn't want to say anything because it's weird. All I've ever been is weird."

"Sam," Castiel interrupted firmly. "You are not weird. Your situation may be, but _you _are not. Please, don't think that."

He shrugged helplessly, "Yeah, okay."

"Now. What you're dealing with isn't Grace. Not entirely. Grace, like I mentioned before, can't think. It can't feel. It, certainly, cannot talk. It's not sentient." Castiel paused to collect his thoughts, then continued, "But, it's possible that Gabriel left a piece of _himself_ in the Horn."

"How do you mean?" Sam asked. "Like, not just his Grace?"

"No, not just his Grace. He'd have to bind a piece of his mind to it, as well. That would explain why it behaves the way it does. It's like…a ghost, you could say."

"Angels can do that?"

"Apparently."

"Why would Gabriel?"

"Why did Gabriel do anything?"

"Good point."

Sam finally began to walk again. His destination had changed, however. Now, he was headed for the library. To where the Grace and the horn resided. He didn't know what he was going to do when he got there, but his curiosity was getting the better of him again.

"So, about the Horn," he said.

"I would like to use it," Castiel replied. "Or at least try. Probably nothing will happen, what with Gabriel being dead. It was _his_ horn, after all. It's possible only he could use it correctly."

Sam nodded, "Right. What about the Grace? Or, not-Grace?"

"Does it bother you?" Castiel questioned, serious.

Yes would have been the truthful answer. Yes, Gabriel's…ghost?…was bothering him. It was driving him up a wall with how often it decided to just pop into his head at night. However, he didn't want to say that. Because, if he did, chances were Cas would take it off their hands. And he could do whatever with it. That worried Sam.

Also, Sam selfishly wanted to keep the Grace for himself. Not because he liked it, but because he wanted to study it. Cas had said that it wasn't just _Grace._ A part of Gabriel's consciousness was infused with that tiny portion of his battery. Something that Castiel had never come across before, according to him. Sam wanted to _play_ with it. Maybe he'd cackle like a cartoon scientist while he was at.

"No," he answered. "No, it's fine."

"Then I would prefer to leave it with you. It's…odd, being around another's Grace when its not, well, _in_ them."

Sam couldn't help but snort as he stepped into the library. "What? Like how humans get shivers around ghosts and dead bodies?"

"Yes," Castiel replied.

Sam flinched a little, shaking his head, as he apologized, "I'm sorry. That was probably insensitive."

"You didn't offend me, Sam," Cas dismissed. "Is it alright if I come there to pick up Gabriel's Horn? It'll probably take me a day, but…"

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied. "Of course, Cas. We'll be happy to see you again."

"Thank you, Sam. I'll call before I arrive."

Cas hung up without another word. Sam pocketed his phone as he came to stand before the Grace. It was still within its plastic container, its sound muffled through the material. It seemed more relaxed then it had the day before.

Sam got the feeling it was watching him the same way he was it. Well, maybe not physically, but there was a feeling of curiosity and apprehension in the air. It flickered at him. Whatever that meant.

"All right," he began. "Here's the deal. If you want to learn so much about Gabriel - er, _you_ - I'll let you…scan my mind, or whatever. But _only_ the surface thoughts. I don't want you picking my brain apart. Especially without my permission. Also? The dream thing? You gotta _ask_ before you do that. I don't care _how_ you ask, but you better ask. If I tell you no? You get the hell out of my head. Or else. Clear?"

Gabriel's Grace replied with a series of different notes that sounded amazingly grumpy yet compliant, flashing in time with them.

Sam nodded his head once, glad to have that all cleared up.

He stared at the Grace for a while, thinking about their predicament. The absurdity of it all. Why Gabriel would bind a piece of his consciousness to the Horn, only to lose it. What Castiel thought he could accomplish by using it. How he was going to tell Dean about Cas stopping by to retrieve the Weapon.

He knew his brother would be happy to see Cas again, but handing over a potential weapon… Dean'd always been hesitant when it came to things like that. Especially if he didn't know the outcome.

The sound of a throat clearing from the doorway leading into the hall caught his attention. Sam turned his head to look over his shoulder and nearly winced when he saw Dean standing there, brow creased with confusion and amusement.

Speaking of Dean.

"Am I," Dean drawled, "interrupting something?"

Sam frowned in annoyance, "No."

The Grace trilled an answer, causing Dean to raise his eyebrows.

"Really? He seems to think otherwise."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Ignore him. It. Ugh. Look, I need to talk to you. Cas called."

"Oh, so that's who you were talking to," Dean grumbled. "Whatever he said, it's gonna have to wait because: one, it's too early in the morning and two, I need coffee. Any chance you already started a pot?"

"Um. No."

Dean groaned as he turned around, "What good are ya?"

* * *

As Sam had suspected, Dean hadn't wanted to hand over the horn. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cas, he'd said. It was just…what if _they_ needed it, at some point? Why couldn't _they_ use it?

Sam had admitted that he had a point. But, with them focused on Abaddon, Cas would probably benefit from the _angelic_ weapon more. It wouldn't really be fair of them to hoard the Horn if it could aid Cas. _They_ had the First Blade on their side. Sorta. Okay, so Crowley had it and Sam hated that fact, but…it was still _technically_ on their side of the court. Give Cas a ball, too.

Dean had relented, eventually, and they'd gone back to researching. With Cas in charge of the Horn, and the agreement between Sam and the Grace about privacy, Sam shifted his subject area. Again. Back to the Mark of Cain.

Sam knew it was eating away at his brother. Hard not to know, when remembering the look on Dean's face as he'd held the First Blade. Hard to miss how Dean's hand twitched sometimes, as if longing to grasp it.

He didn't want Dean to end up like he had. With Ruby and the demon blood. That was a dark road, a very dark road, and his brother didn't deserve that. But, once Dean had a goal in mind, it was hard to derail him. So, best way to do that? Show him evidence and pray for the best.

Magnus had known about the First Blade and the Mark. If _he_ knew, then there was a good chance that the Men of Letters had known, as well. The problem was: Finding any documents on it.

Sam wouldn't have put it past the old man to have taken some files with him, or have simply destroyed them. Magnus hadn't really seemed like the sharing sort.

Hours of digging around in dusty papers led to nothing. Just a mess that he was going to have to clean up later. Boxes he was going to have to reshelf at some point. But, he was tired, it was dinner time, and he just left shit where it lay in the storage room.

Dean was gone when he stepped back into the library. Sam frowned at that. Dean hadn't said he was going out. Sam sent him a text, asking if he was still in the Bunker or if he'd gone for a fast food run, and then he made his way to kitchen.

He settled on two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. It wasn't his favorite food in the world by a long shot, but it would do in a pinch. He was hungry and he didn't want to waste almost thirty minutes actually cooking a healthy meal from the random ingredients they had shoved in the fridge.

Sam returned to the library. He placed his phone on the table in front of him in case Dean finally got around to texting him. Since he hadn't responded right away, Sam figured he was either in his room asleep, or out and busy. Or out and ignoring him. Sam wasn't going to dwell on _that_ scenario.

The Grace was watching him from across the room while he ate. He tried to ignore the prickly sensation that came with that knowledge, but about halfway through his first sandwich it got to be too much. With a sigh, he dropped the sandwich onto the paper towel he was using as a plate and turned his head to stare back.

The Grace warbled a reply.

Whatever that meant.

Without giving it much thought, Sam pushed himself up and out of his chair. He crossed the room and then took the juice bottle holding the Grace into his hand. The Grace reached out to him, as it had before. The plastic allowed for a stronger sensation of tingling where the tendrils of light met his fingers and palm. A greater warmth.

Sam walked back to his chair, frowning at the Grace. He knew what he was going to do. He knew it was going to be a stupid idea. Yet, he felt like he couldn't _not_ do it. This was the easiest way to get those prickly, non-existent eyes off him. Maybe.

He sat back down, the chair scraping briefly against the floor, and reached for the lid to the bottle.

"I'm going to let you out," he said firmly, "and you're going to keep your hands to yourself. Or you're going back in. Got it?"

The Grace responded, lifting itself to press against the lid. Sam unscrewed it, the Grace slipping out like liquid light. It pooled onto the table, curled in on itself, and resumed its more spherical shape. It didn't really touch the hard wood, merely hovered above it with the illusion that it was sitting there, minding its own business. Sam got the impression it was trying to be cute.

"So," he continued, placing the bottle off to the side along with its lid. "Since you wanna know all about yourself, I'm going to tell you what I remember. Right here, right now. Because, maybe this way, you won't barge into my dreams to sate your curiosity. Wishful thinking, I know. You're going to do it anyway because that's just you.

"Hey!"

The Grace jolted back away from the sandwich it had been slowly hovering towards. The small tendril that had been stretching out towards his food rolled back into the main body.

Sam glared at it in warning.

It jingled innocently.

It was like it was asking to be smacked.

"Hands off," Sam commanded.

Shifting in his seat, he grabbed his half-eaten sandwiched, took a bite, and continued his little story time. He didn't care what Gabriel's Grace thought of his poor table manners.

"Right. So. You? You were a jerk. Gabriel was a colossal jerk." He swallowed his bite. "You skipped out of Heaven because, according to you, you couldn't handle the fighting. Which, I hate to say it, I get. I get that. What I don't get is why you decided to become the Trickster.

"For whatever reason, you became this…_pagan_ god, for lack of a better term, and went around killing people."

The Grace hummed shrilly. Sam rolled his eyes, taking another bite of his food. This time, he waited until he'd swallowed to talk.

"Yeah, well, you did. And you did it for God-knows how long. Your _M.O._ was to target assholes and give them their 'just desserts.' Again, though I hate to say it, I kinda get that, too. Some part of me says they deserved what they got because, heh, some of the guys you took out were lower than dirt. Bigger part of me says that killing people is wrong." Then he muttered, "Kinda hypocritical belief, but…kinda beaten into me, too."

The Grace warbled. It almost made Sam laugh. Dumb thing was trying to converse with him, knowing damn well he couldn't understand the sound of tinkling bells, no matter how they were manipulated to convey a message.

"Anyway, I probably wouldn't have hated you for that, really. I didn't hate the Trickster. Not at first. He was kinda funny. And I wasn't too fond of his victims, either. …And then you targeted Dean."

Gabriel's Grace somehow managed to quiet its ever-present noise, shrinking in on itself. Sam smiled condescendingly at it, for only a second, and took another bite of his food.

"You killed him over and over again. A hundred Tuesdays of my brother dying in a hundred different ways, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. That was the point, you'd said. ...I'd hunted you down for months, in this sort-of bizarro separate timeline. Hell, I don't know what you'd pulled. At the time, it was real, and all I wanted was to grab a hold of you and demand you to give my brother back. Or kill you."

The Grace had moved to hide behind the prune juice bottle, like that was going to keep Sam's stare from piercing the translucent plastic.

"I think I turned into my own brand of monster trying to make you pay," he admitted.

"I operated like a machine; I was obsessed. And when I did finally find you? ...All of that rage just...went out the window. I just wanted Dean back, so I asked you to give him back. You gave me this speech about how he was my weakness. 'The bad guys know it, too.'"

Sam frowned, eyes distant as he remembered that scene. He'd been crying; Gabriel - the Trickster - had been, for probably the first time ever, serious. He was making his case, in his own twisted, disgusting way. 'It'll be the death of you, Sam.' 'Like it or not, this is what life's gonna be like without him.'

He hadn't cared. Not then. And he hadn't learned his lesson, either. If he had, Ruby and Lilith...

"In the end, you gave him back. That's all I cared about. For a week after that, I wouldn't let him out of my sight."

He huffed a small laugh, "Dean was pissed about that. I think he hated you even more than I did when I told him everything that had happened. He didn't remember a thing. But I did. And I had nightmares about Broward County, off and on, for months. Thanks for that."

Gabriel's Grace didn't reply. No warble, no whine. Nothing. Just hid behind its bottle. Sam didn't bother to touch his food again. He'd kinda lost his appetite.

Sam shrugged, "Stuff happened. Time passed. Dean went to Hell. The angels brought him back. I let Lucifer out of the box. And you got pissed. Blamed us for everything. Which, yeah, I guess you weren't completely wrong. But you kind of missed the part where you were doing nothing to help, either."

He sighed.

"You ran, instead. I've run before, so I understand. But... Gabriel, you have a _really_ shitty way of trying to get your point across. You _humiliated_ me in punishment for something you didn't even _warn me _about. Not really. You made it into a _joke!_"

Sam swallowed thickly, glaring at the light ball. It was hard, having this conversation with something that didn't even resemble the Archangel that had put him through hell many times.

Not unlike the angel's older brother, he thought ruefully, even if a little less literal.

It was hard but he had to have it. He deserved to speak his mind. And this time? Gabriel couldn't say or do anything to silence him. He couldn't give him a cold shoulder or dismiss his feelings as easily as Dean had.

"If you'd just _said_ something. If you'd just bothered to think, for once... Maybe we wouldn't have screwed up as bad as we did."

He shrugged again, leaning back in his chair and poking at the table with his forefinger.

"But, hey, past is past. So, yeah. I hated you, for the most part. I understood you and I despised you for what you did to us. I despised you for leaving everything on my shoulders and then blaming me for not... Heh. For not _being psychic _and knowing just what I was doing. I still resent you."

He looked back up at the Grace.

"But, you're not quite Gabriel. _You_ didn't do all that. Just a different part. So, I don't hate _you, _I guess. You probably wouldn't be that bad."

Hopefully. Knowing all the bullshit it was capable of doing, maybe the Grace wouldn't become such a, as he'd said, colossal jerk. It seemed cowed enough already. And it _had_ agreed to not barge in on his dreams without asking first. Sorta. At least, he was pretty sure it had. Who knew? Maybe the Grace not being an asshole would let him move closer to forgiving the Archangel entirely. ...Dying for them had definitely gained a few points in his favor, after all.

"Um, Sam?"

Sam jerked in surprise at the sound of Dean's voice. Snapping his head to the right, he spotted Dean standing between the foyer and the library. In his hand was a small grocery bag. Sam could make out the shape of a pack of beer.

So that's where he'd gone. Why hadn't he just said something? Or answered a text?

Dean was obviously confused, but also concerned, as he stared at the Grace. Sam looked at the miraculously quiet ball of light and then back to Dean.

"Um," Sam echoed. "It- He- I was just."

"Letting the annoying Archangel out of his cage for some dumb ass reason?" Dean questioned, concern rapidly moving towards annoyance. "And you get onto me for Crowley."

Sam frowned, standing up from the table.

"It's not like that!" He stressed. "Look, I just thought... He'll cooperate more if he has a little freedom, or something."

Dean nodded sarcastically, "Oh, is that so? Like, what? Like how we did Crowley?"

"Dean."

"And it's 'he,' now, with you, too?"

Sam took a deep breath through his nose, rolled his shoulders, and then let it out slowly.

He wasn't going to snap. He wasn't. He didn't want Dean knowing about the dreams, because his brother'd be ten times more condescending than he was being now. He couldn't tell Dean _why_ he wanted the Grace to be more cooperative. No, he just had to let the argument go before it even really began, even if the very idea set him on fire.

He didn't have to say anything, it turned out. The increase in chatter, if it could be called that, brought Sam's attention towards Gabriel's Grace. It had lifted itself from the table and was in the process of pouring itself back into its bottle.

Sam was astonished. And, equally as surprising, he was kind of offended.

No, he thought. The freakin' Archangel shouldn't have to crawl back into its tiny _cell_ because Dean was being a jerk. That wasn't fair.

Turning back to Dean, Sam saw how impressed and pleased his brother looked. It kinda pissed him off, for some reason.

"Huh," his brother said. "Well, that's an improvement. Seems like he doesn't mind being in the bottle, eh, Sammy? Maybe you should leave him in there."

Sam worked his jaw but refused to answer. Dean didn't expect him to.

"By the way, Cas called while I was out. Said he'd show up at the ass crack of dawn for the Horn, so, I'm hitting the sack early. I'll leave you and your new buddy to whatever the hell it was y'all were doing before I showed up."

With a false, quick smile, Dean walked past him, headed for the kitchen.

Sam tried to calm himself. Things were getting too tense between him and his brother, and sometimes over the most stupid stuff. Looking back over his shoulder, Sam glared weakly at the Grace inside the bottle.

"Coward," he accused.

The Grace whined at him, yet it refused to leave its new home.

* * *

His dream began in the Mystery Spot. It was like he'd simply spawned in the room with the green and black spiral, facing the door to his freedom.

He wanted to leave. He desperately wanted to leave. He'd relived Broward County enough for one day, thank you. Yet, he felt like he couldn't. It wasn't a physical feeling, of course. He knew if he took those few steps forward that he could grasp the door knob, turn it, and walk out. Walk into who knew where.

Mentally, however... He felt like he belonged. Like he was there for a reason and to leave would invalidate that reason. Problem was, he couldn't figure out if those thoughts were his own or if they were Gabriel's influence. He'd moved the Grace back into his room, after all.

He hadn't wanted it in the library where Cas could see it, or where Dean could sabotage it. Dean was hesitant to release the Horn to Cas because it was a weapon. Gabriel's Grace, on the other hand, was a sentient being. Sorta. It was Gabriel, in a way. They couldn't control it as easily as an inanimate object. If Dean felt threatened by its existence...

It was safer in his room.

Why the hell he was protecting it after ranting about all the hurtful shit its counterpart had caused him he also didn't know. He thought he knew. He had a pretty good idea that it had something to do with being too empathetic for his own good. But, it still didn't make logical sense.

"Knock, knock," Gabriel's voice teased, bouncing off the walls around him.

Sam rolled his eyes. And there would be the resident nuisance.

"This your way of asking permission?" He questioned.

He kept his focus on the door. A door, he had no doubt, that Gabriel's Grace was going to come through. He was also hesitant to turn around. Afraid to see what scenario may play out in the Mystery Spot. Dean taking a shot gun blast to the chest? The axe he accidentally embedded into his own brother? He didn't want to know.

"Got it in one," Gabriel replied. "You gonna let me in, or should I wait outside some more?"

"Do I have a choice?" Sam shot back.

"I'm hurt! I told you I'd follow your little rules about your own head. Don't believe me?"

"You know damn well why I don't."

"True. In or out, Sam."

He sighed and rolled his eyes again. Tilting his head back, he stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. Well, if he said no, he may be stuck in the dream anyway. At least if he said yes, he'd have something to focus on other than his surroundings. Maybe.

Throwing his hands up in defeat, he replied, "Fine. In."

Gabriel didn't come through the door. Sam felt his presence behind him, instead.

Spinning around, Sam jumped back a foot to glare at the Trickster. The Archangel. Whoever the hell he planned on being tonight.

Because he wasn't glowing anymore. He wasn't that imprint of energy in the shape of a man. He was _Gabriel_. Amber eyes, honey-brown hair, green jacket, and blue jeans. That falsely amused twinkle in his eyes.

Gabriel shrugged, bringing his hands forward as if to invite Sam to take a look at him. He smirked.

"So. How do I look?"

"Like you, I guess," he grumbled.

"Yeah, well. All thanks to your monologue earlier."

Gabriel dropped his hands. Sam watched him as he began to look around them. The Archangel took in the green and black walls of the hallway, the objects stuck to the walls and ceiling, and the mood lighting. The Archangel didn't seem to care he was being watched.

He was seeing this for the first time, Sam realized. Just as he'd gleaned what he'd looked like from Sam's mind, he'd also taken in his mental projection of the Mystery Spot. Made it real in a space he could control: Sam's dreams. The corner of Gabriel's lips twitched.

"'My own sets,'" he quoted, knocking against a wall with a knuckle.

Sam twitched at the comment. He frowned.

"So you _are_ the reason I'm here. This your idea of a joke? Make me relive the nightmares? I mean, it _sounds_ like you, but-"

"The door is meant for you, Sam," Gabriel interrupted, looking over his shoulder at him. "It's an escape hatch, not an entrance. You want out? Leave. I'm not stopping you. I only came here to talk."

"About what?" He couldn't help but growl.

Gabriel shrugged again. He slowly walked deeper into the house. Sam followed him, but at a distance. Having an exit _was_ comforting, a boost in his confidence, but he was still annoyed.

He was going to listen to what the Archangel had to say. Hell, he'd probably demand to know it. He felt like he was being played with, after all. He wanted to know why.

When Gabriel stopped walking, he turned. He didn't face Sam, he kept his eyes elsewhere, but he was going to address him, Sam knew. He was frowning, eyes distant. He looked old, tired. The expression surprised Sam, honestly.

"You were right, Sam," Gabriel muttered. "I did hate myself."

"What?"

Gabriel faced him then, the expression on his face the same one he wore in that warehouse years ago. The tight smile he gave was the same, too.

"Please. Why do you think I left a piece of myself behind in a fucking horn? A horn I then _buried_. I was trying to _lose_ myself, Sam. I was guilty of being the Archangel Gabriel, the sorry SOB who couldn't even get his brothers to stop fighting."

He chuckled mirthlessly as he continued, "And then there was Dad's little gift to me. The Horn of Truth. Fancy name, but what I was meant to do with it? Eh. Didn't care for it. Didn't care for myself. So I buried both. A little time capsule of myself."

Shrugging, Gabriel looked away. He looked at nothing in particular.

Sam was torn. Once again, he was _understanding_. God, he was starting to hate that.

"Then I skipped town. Well, _I_ skipped town. Me? I was stuck in dirt. A sentinel in case someone came along to unearth the Horn. No one had any business putting their hands on that thing, least of all me. I was supposed to stop them."

He refaced Sam, "But do you know how lonely that is? Lil' ol' me couldn't take it. Sucks to have a conscious spark bound to you. Makes you want things. So, when those old scribes found me in the middle of nowhere...I did nothing. I think you can figure the rest out yourself. You're pretty smart like that."

Sam stared uncomfortably at the Grace. No, he didn't really know what it was like to spend thousands of years alone. Hundreds of years being tortured, maybe, but that wasn't really the same thing. A different brand of hopelessness and despair, he guessed.

"Why didn't you come out when they touched the Horn, then?" Sam asked. "Why'd you... Why'd you wait until I did it? You had other opportunities to make contact with someone. To stop being lonely. Why not take them?"

Gabriel merely stared back at him, a sad smile behind his eyes.

The answer came to Sam on its own. _Lucifer._ That's what the Grace had sensed. That's what the Grace had chased down. An older brother - an estranged brother. An angel.

It made sense. Before Gabriel had separated the Grace from himself, angels were probably the only thing he'd hung around. The only thing he really cared for. Millenia away from the Host...

Human company wasn't what the Grace wanted. He wanted his old family back. Probably wanted himself back, too. 'Where am I?' It had asked. He was dead.

"Oh," was all Sam said.

"Yup," Gabriel replied dispassionately. "As for the _real_ me. Well, I don't know about you, but I don't think taking out one's frustrations on others-" he raised his hand to indicate Sam, "-including yours truly-" he let it drop, "-indicates a high self-esteem."

Sam huffed, "Yeah. Something like that."

Gabriel was giving him that serious look of his again. Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"I shouldn't have done that to you, Sam," he said. "I'm sorry."

Sam wasn't prepared for that apology. He was less prepared for the way his throat tightened and his eyes got hot.

He wasn't sure why that made him emotional, but like damn was he going to cry in front of Gabriel, of all people. So, instead, he blinked a couple of times to get rid of the burning sensation, cleared his throat, and merely nodded his acceptance as his eyes scanned the floor.

It wasn't the _real_ Gabriel apologizing, but... Well, the real one was dead. Kinda had to take what he got. It was more than he'd thought he'd get, in any case.

"Uh. Right," he stuttered. "So."

"Sam."

He braced himself but drew his eyes up from the floor to meet Gabriel's. He expected something from Sam. He could see it in the Archangel's eyes. It wasn't going to be a demand, more like he was going to implore something. Still, Sam grew uneasy again.

"What are you going to do with the Horn?"

"Oh."

Oh, right. That. The object that Gabriel had been so keen on hiding from everyone. The object the Grace had been bound to for thousands of years. The object that... did things Sam wasn't entirely sure of. The object that was going to be handed to Cas without the Grace's permission. _That_ Horn.

Sam chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. An action that didn't go unnoticed by Gabriel. The Archangel frowned a little, eyebrows drawing together.

He didn't want to tell him. Sam was afraid to tell him. He was afraid there'd be an outburst or the Grace would react and try to do something. He was afraid-

Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes, "Save it, kiddo. I already know. Just hoped you'd spill the beans."

The tension drained out of Sam's body. And then it returned.

"Were you testing me?" He accused.

"Yes. But, hey! At least you felt guilty about it. That eases my mind a little."

"Oh, well. In that case."

"Castiel has no business with that Horn."

"How do you know we're giving it to Cas?"

Gabriel laughed. Sam jerked a little in surprise at the sound. It was a genuine laugh, bubbling out of Gabriel and vibrating off the wooden walls and furniture of the Mystery Spot. The Archangel's shoulders shook. His eyes were alive for once, little dimples appearing in his cheeks.

Sam pouted. He couldn't even call it a frown. He _pouted._

"What?" He grouched.

"Oh, come _on_, Sam!" Gabriel grinned.

When Sam's expression didn't change, Gabriel shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, for one," the Archangel began, "I can listen in on radio waves..."

"The phone call," Sam realized.

Gabriel nodded once, smiling. "Two: I can hear, y'know? I was in the room when Dean started flapping his gums, remember?"

Oh. Yeah. Now he just felt stupid. And forgetful. They were going to have to watch what they said in his presence, then, huh?

Sam folded his arms across his chest as he leveled a stare at Gabriel.

"I don't think I like you listening in on my phone conversations."

"Sorry, kiddo. Can't really turn that feature off. Maybe if I was an _actual_ angel, I could. But," he shrugged, lifting his hands from his sides only to let them smack his thighs when he dropped them, "as nothing but sentient energy..."

Sam frowned, but then he nodded his understanding anyway. Uncomfortable though he was with the fact that Gabriel's Grace could tap into his phone calls, he couldn't keep it from happening, apparently. Why worry about it?

"So," the Grace began again. "What is _Castiel_ going to do with the Horn?"

Sam answered him. He didn't see any harm in it. Plus, the Grace probably knew more about the Weapon than he did. Scratch that, the Grace _most definitely_ knew more about the Horn than he did.

Sam told him that he wasn't sure what Cas wanted to do with it. He wanted to blow it, obviously. When he asked the Grace what that would do, the Grace merely shrugged and began to walk through the Mystery Spot. Again. Sam got the feeling he was avoiding the question, so he persisted, trailing after the Archangel like an overgrown duckling.

The Grace didn't answer the way he wanted him to. He wouldn't say what the Horn would do, he merely said what it wouldn't do. It wouldn't work with the Apocalypse, that was for sure, considering that had come and gone. It wouldn't end the world, so Sam could put that thought to rest. No, Gabriel said, it was pretty harmless now. Without him, it couldn't be utilized to its full potential. He didn't want it to go to Castiel, he didn't want it to go to anyone, but it didn't matter if it did.

"Will it help against Metatron?" Sam asked.

Gabriel looked over his shoulder from where he was reaching for the door, one eyebrow raised. For a second, Sam was terrified that the Archangel would leave the dream, leave him hanging. But then the door opened to reveal the street outside. Only...not. It was definitely the street Sam remembered walking down for, like, forever - the street Dean got crushed on, eaten, and hit by a car - but that wasn't the street that was meant to be outside the Mystery Spot. Then again, this was a dream, so.

"Maybe," Gabriel replied, stepping outside.

They walked along the sidewalk. They were headed towards the diner, Sam realized. He was less than thrilled that that was their destination, but he had bigger fish to fry. His nerves could shove it.

He demanded Gabriel explain his answer better. The Archangel flatly refused. Instead, he said, he wanted to know about what had happened with the Apocalypse. Give him a good, detailed play-by-play. Sam sighed. But he did it.

For whatever reason, he began at the beginning. Azazel and the demon blood. The hunts their father would drag them on, even if he just left them behind in the motel rooms or with others in the hunting life. He told the Archangel about how he hadn't understood what John was doing until he'd found his father's journal.

He told Gabriel a lot of things that didn't have a lot to do with the Apocalypse.

And he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why he was saying all that stuff. Spewing off his life's greatest hits and not-so-great ones. Gabriel wouldn't care. But Sam did. He felt better to get it off his chest. At least to someone who'd listen and not judge.

Which is what Gabriel did. The Archangel sat with him in a booth in the diner, sipping on a dream milkshake. He never really looked up at Sam, kept his eyes trained on the table between them, but he listened.

Sometimes, he commented to tell Sam that John was a dick, or that Dean was a dick. Sam couldn't help it, he laughed at the Archangel. Leave it to the ghost of Gabriel - the ghost of the Trickster - to pinpoint when someone was being even a _tiny sliver_ of an asshole.

Sometimes, Sam had to agree with him. Unfortunately.

Azazel was a douchebag, someone Gabriel seemed to righteously want to wipe the floor with. He was pleased to hear the demon had been killed by them.

Then there was Lilith. Gabriel groaned at the name. Yeah, he knew her. Lucifer's first. And he knew where the story was going after that. At least, from a breaking the seals point-of-view.

Ruby warranted a polite confusion and ignorance, but Gabriel did not miss the change in Sam's demeanor whenever he brought her up. And by the time Sam got to the...demon blood...Gabriel's look became dark. Wrathful. Sam was almost afraid to continue.

Yet, continue he did. Up until the part where he took control over Lucifer, grabbed Michael, and tossed them all into the Cage.

"Wait, wait, wait," Gabriel interrupted, waving his hand in the air. "Stop. Rewind. Play. You did what now?"

"Uh," Sam replied. "I took control of my body again. Then Michael showed up. So, I grabbed him and dove into the Cage."

Gabriel's expression would have been blank if it weren't for the fact his mouth was slightly open. He stared at Sam for a very uncomfortable few seconds. Then he shook his head and leaned back in his bench seat.

Sam snorted derisively.

"Yeah. Shocking that the 'boy with demon blood' could do something like that."

"Uh, yeah," Gabriel nodded his head once. "But not because of who ya are, Sam. It's more _what_ you are."

Sam tilted his head, hair swaying into his vision briefly. Gabriel saw his look of confusion and rolled his eyes. The Archangel put his elbows on the table and then leaned forward to stare at Sam. Sam shifted uncomfortably, sitting back a little to gain some space.

"You're human," Gabriel said, stating the obvious. "Angels? When we possess you guys, we possess all of you. Just like demons. We're _everywhere_. You know what I'm talking about, Sam."

Sam swallowed thickly. Yeah, he knew.

He remembered Lucifer. What it felt like to have this freezing fire press him down and smother him. He remembered the feeling of clawing at the force, trying to push back to the surface. All the while, he could see everything Lucifer was doing to those outside. Those his body killed and hurt.

And then there was Gadreel...

"Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

"You didn't just beat an angel, Sam. You beat _Lucifer._ I couldn't even stand up to him, and I'm an _Archangel_. But you?" He chuckled once. "You won. So, yeah, kiddo. It's shocking. And to have the balls to drag Michael down with you?" Gabriel whistled as he leaned back again, "That's something."

Sam huffed, "I have a funny feeling you wouldn't say that if you were... Y'know... The real you."

Gabriel smirked, "The real me was an asshat who buried his head in the sand and isolated himself for thousands of years. The real me spent so long torturing bad guys that _nice_ wasn't even in his vocabulary anymore. The compliment I just gave you came from a Gabriel who still had it in him to hope."

"Laying it on a bit thick with those dramatics, don't you think?" Sam smiled.

Gabriel shrugged, "When have I never?"

"No hard feelings about locking your brothers away for, like, all eternity?"

"Eh. They deserved it. Not my fault they couldn't pull their heads out of their asses. 'sides! At least they're alive. More than what Pops had planned for 'em. Who knows? Maybe they'll work out their differences down there."

Then Gabriel frowned. He looked from the window he was gazing out of back to Sam.

"How did you get out of the Cage?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is the chapter that involves the descriptions of the Cage, including acid burns.**

* * *

Sam jerked awake at the sound of a fist pounding on his bedroom door. His first instinct was to reach for the gun hiding under his pillow. Which he did.

Breathing excitedly, his eyes searched his surroundings. The Grace was hovering innocently in its bottle, though it was making a racket in response to the noise outside.

Realizing that nothing was trying to break down his door and eat him, Sam removed his hand from his pistol. He brought both his hands up to scrub at his face.

"Yo, Sammy!" Dean shouted to him. "Ain't this usually the other way around?"

"What do you want, Dean?" Sam shouted back.

"Oh, just informing you that Cas is at the door and that _maybe_ you should come out and greet 'im? Tell him about the Horn you found and decided to let him have?"

"Yeah. Okay. Got it. Thanks!"

With another firm slap at the door, Dean left. Sam listened to his footsteps as he walked away. Rolling his eyes and groaning, Sam let his head fall back onto his pillow.

Yeah. He had to agree with Gabriel. Dean was a dick.

"You could have, I don't know, warned me that he was going to do that," he grouched as he looked at the Grace on his shelf.

Sam was pretty sure the response he was given was an energy ball's way of blowing a raspberry.

Reluctantly, he threw the covers off himself. He began to change his clothes as quickly as he could, lamenting over how he'd have to take a shower later when he kinda wanted to take one now. He also ignored the tinkling noises coming from behind him.

He buttoned and zipped his pants, then looked over his shoulder at the Grace.

"_You_ are staying here," he commanded with a point.

The Grace objected.

"Cas..." He worked his jaw trying to figure out how to explain it. "Well, the last thing he needs is to see something like you, okay? He's already after the Horn and I kinda... I'm kinda worried what he'd do with you."

The Grace cooed. As well as a celesta could coo, anyway.

Sam shook his head, "Don't flatter yourself."

Snatching his V-neck from his bed, Sam put it on as he walked towards his door. Again, he ignored the protests of the Grace as he closed the door behind him.

Right. Horn. That was in the library still. Which was probably where Cas was waiting for them. Or him, since Dean was probably already there, too. Impatiently tapping his foot like some stupid cartoon character.

And he was right, all save for the tapping foot. Dean was muttering something to Cas when he stepped into the library. As soon as Cas made eye contact with him, however, Dean stepped away.

Sam tried not to let it get to him. The secrecy. He failed. He frowned at his brother; Dean played it off like nothing was wrong. That's typically how things went between them, wasn't it?

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, diverting his attention to their friend.

"Hello, Sam," Cas replied. His standard greeting for him, it seemed. "I've come for the Horn."

Sam couldn't help but smile at that.

"Yeah, I kinda figured."

"Yeah," Dean drawled. Turning to Cas he asked, "So, what're plans with it?"

"I intend to use it."

"I know _that, _Einstein. I meant what are you gonna do with it? Like, what's it do that makes you want it so bad?"

Cas frowned, "I don't know what it does, Dean. That's why I want to use it."

"Oh, yeah, that seems smart. Use the Heavenly Weapon that you ain't got a clue how to use."

"I'm running out of options, Dean," Castiel growled.

"Well, maybe - "

Sam cleared his throat. Loudly. Both Dean's and Cas' glares turned towards him. He smiled reflexively. The glares lessened, but only slightly. Right, so, his news was totally going to be well received.

"Um. Well, as the resident, er, Horn expert. Grace expert, more like. I think I can help a little bit. Like, just a tiny, itty-bitty bit. Maybe."

"Get on with it, jumbo."

"So, the Grace and I were talking."

"You _do_ talk to him," Dean accused.

At the same time, Castiel asked, "You're still conversing with it?"

Sam looked from Dean to Cas as the two of them looked at each other. Things were going downhill fast.

"Wait, you _knew_ about this little love fest going on?" Dean asked Cas, pointing at Sam as if he wasn't standing _right there._

"It's not a love fest," Sam mumbled.

"You didn't?" Cas asked Dean. He then turned to give Sam a squinty-eyed, confused look.

"Anyway - " Sam began.

"Wait a minute. How the _hell_ are you talking to him? It's like Jingle Bell Rock 24-7. ...You _are_ doing the Grace Whisperer thing, aren't you?" Dean interjected.

" - the Grace says the Horn won't do what it's supposed to do."

"You mean regarding Revelations?" Cas asked.

"Yes."

"Hello. I'm still here. When did Revelations get brought into this?"

"It's the Horn of Truth, Dean," Cas explained. "Meant to be blown during the Apocalypse? Revelations?"

"Yeah, but we didn't blow it then."

"Obviously."

Sam sighed, "Guys, focus. The Horn won't work like it's supposed to - "

"Then why are we even trying to use it?" Dean demanded.

" - but it will work. It does something. I don't what the hell it does, because Gabriel's Grace wouldn't say. It's Gabriel. He's an asshole. Anyways, he said it won't _hurt_ to use it. So!"

Cas nodded, "Then I can use it."

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Take the damn thing. Sam. You kinda dodged the question about talking to the Grace. Like, having _actual_ conversations with the damn thing." Dean frowned, "I thought we weren't supposed to be keeping secrets."

Sam snapped, "Oh, like you aren't?"

"Please, stop," Cas implored.

"No!" Sam said, perhaps a little more forcefully than he'd intended. "I don't see why I have to spill everything, while he-he disappears at random hours of the day, doesn't tell me where he's going - "

"What are you, my wife?" Dean spat.

"No, I'm your brother! And you're a hunter. So, what the hell am I supposed to do if something jumps you while you're out and I don't know where you've gone? You didn't even answer my text messages last night to even say, 'Yeah, no, just making a beer run, Sam. All's just fuckin' dandy!'"

"Sam," Castiel spoke firmly. "You have a point. Dean should have at least validated the fact that he was safe."

"Thank you."

"But Dean also has a point in that keeping the conversations with the Grace a secret might not be a good idea."

Sam frowned peevishly. Dean looked entirely too smug. Until he turned his attention to Cas and smiled sardonically.

"Then why didn't _you_ say something about it?"

"Because it's not my place to divulge Sam's personal life to you."

Dean frowned. Sam grinned mockingly at him.

Cas looked expectantly at him, "Sam?"

He sighed and shrugged, "Okay. Fine. The Grace is contacting me in my dreams."

Dean pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side in confusion. Then he tilted his head the other way as if that would help him understand the situation any better. He shook his head.

"It's contacting you in your dreams?" Dean asked in disbelief. "How? Why?"

"I don't know, Dean. To answer your first question, he's manipulating dream waves. Or something. Electrical patterns in the brain - that's all dreams are. He's a ball of energy. I mean, it's not much of a stretch."

"Sam's right," Cas spoke up. "In a more simplified way. Manipulating dreams is very easy for an angel. Even if they're just a ghost of one."

Dean rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed with all the scientific jargon being spoken in his presence. Contrary to how his brother liked to behave around the subject, Sam knew he actually understood a majority of it. He just didn't _want_ to understand it.

"To answer your second question," Sam continued. "To be honest, I think he's lonely."

"Aw, well, then."

"He was buried in dirt for thousands of years," he grouched. "And then locked in a bunker. No angelic contact. Don't you think _you'd_ get a little, I don't know, bored? Desperate?"

Dean made a disgusted noise.

"Whatever, dude. I'm not sympathizing with _Gabriel_. That's all on you. What's he want, other than companionship? And don't tell me 'nothing' because he's already told you some plot-heavy shit. Why?"

"Because I asked!" Sam defended. "He's not planning anything, Dean. He's a light bulb! You're, like, assuming a drop of water that's been pulled out of a reservoir still has enough power to break the dam."

"Hey! Light bulbs are known for their ideas."

Sam opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, but he just couldn't think of a response to that. The absurdity and inappropriately-timed humor were just too mind-numbing. He took a deep breath and scrubbed at his face.

"Is there anything else you asked that would be useful?" Castiel interjected.

"No?" He half-asked. "Like I said, he didn't really give me any answers. Other than, yeah, it's okay to use the Horn even if he doesn't want you to."

"Why doesn't he want Cas to use it?" Dean questioned, suspicious.

"Because he doesn't want anyone to use it. It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it."

"He hates it and wants it to disappear off the face of the planet?" Sam snapped.

"Why's - "

"Not important, Dean. Trust me on this one thing. Unless you want me to give you Gabriel's life story: It's not important."

"Ew, no. I'm good."

"I don't intend to be rude," Cas began, "but I fear I need to take the Horn and leave. As soon as possible."

"Eat and run, eh, Cas?" Dean quipped.

"I haven't - "

"Yeah," Sam interrupted. "Sure, Cas. Angels dying, right?"

Cas frowned uneasily, "Right."

Sam retrieved the Horn from its place on one of the many bookshelves lining the room.

It felt odd, now, picking it up. He'd known that the instrument was ancient and important. However, knowing what he did about the Grace and Gabriel's intentions behind hiding the thing, looking at the magic writing etched into the metal... It was weird.

History wasn't so far away anymore. It wasn't just something to be studied analytically out of books.

Like the Grace had been, there were also _feelings_ attached to the object. The same sort of sentiment that had ghosts latching onto things. Again, he'd known all that, but now... Now he was feeling it, too. He sorta understood why the Grace didn't want anyone using the Horn.

Dean asked Castiel about any progress he'd made with Metatron or Gadreel as Sam turned back towards them, Horn in hand. Cas replied with the same thing he'd told Sam the morning before. He only knew the basics. He was still hunting the two angels down. Whenever he found something worthwhile, he'd give them a call.

Cas took the Horn from Sam gingerly. He seemed to revere it a little. He was definitely trying not to damage it, even though, Sam doubted, his fingers wouldn't hurt the polished animal horn.

He thanked Sam. Dean joked about it, saying that the Horn wasn't Sam's, so he should be thinking the 'glowing light ball.' Castiel looked like he was going to take Dean up on his suggestion, before Sam said he didn't have to. It was fine.

Castiel left, though it seemed like he wished to stay longer. Sam felt kinda bad for him. It was one thing to feel lost in an investigation, it was another for that investigation to be about saving the world, and yet _another_ when you were the only one on the case. But, well, Cas wanted to handle his siblings himself, and Dean and Sam had their attention elsewhere.

Returning to his littered pile of files from the day before, Sam went about trying to find more of Magnus' research. Dean pitched in, too, sitting on the floor of the storage room like a grumpy teenager trying to figure out why Algebra was ever going to matter in their lifetime. Hours into it, Dean took a food break. He returned nearly half-an-hour later with a burger for himself and a salad for Sam. When Sam frowned in question, Dean merely said he was tired of PB&J, so he'd run to the nearest fast food joint. Sam had to agree with him on the sandwiches.

It was odd, to Sam, that the only times he wasn't cross with Dean was when they were working. When they were distracted from their problems and working towards a common goal. It sucked. However, he'd made his boundaries, and he'd made them for a reason. A good reason, he thought. And he wasn't going to take them down anytime soon. Not without a proper apology from Dean. ...Something he probably wasn't ever going to get.

Yet, his boundaries wouldn't stop him from helping his brother when he needed it. Dean had become antsy as the day wore on, and it wasn't just the research and his attention span that was the problem. Sam had seen the way his hand twitched for, seemingly, no reason. He'd seen the way Dean would space out and how he'd subconsciously rub at the Mark through his shirt.

He knew withdrawal when he saw it. He'd felt it before, too.

He didn't call it out for what it was. He knew Dean wouldn't appreciate it, and if his pride was injured he wouldn't entertain any idea Sam came up with regarding the Mark or the Blade. So, instead, he tried to play his suggestion to switch topic areas off as boredom. Since Magnus wasn't turning up anything, why not gun for Cain or Abel some other way? Broaden their horizons to different areas of Genesis-related Biblical lore and try that route?

Dean grunted his assent. They put up their old files. Sam made sure that everything went where it was supposed to because his brother wasn't as 'anal' as he was about it.

Until dinner time, they browsed through boxes for keywords such as 'Adam', 'Eve', 'The Serpent', and 'Eden.' A few files fit the description, but most of it was just lore that echoed what one could find with a quick Internet search or Sunday School lesson. Hell, in some mentions, Cain had used a rock to hit Abel. 'The First Rock,' he'd joked. Dean hadn't found it as funny as he had. Sam apologized meekly.

Eventually, they called it a day. It was a bust. What else was new.

Dinner was a soup concoction Dean whipped up. He called it vegetable soup, but that wasn't what it was. Close enough, though. They ate in the small dining area beside the kitchen. Sam ate his mystery food without complaint.

Dean teased him over the Grace, telling him to have sweet dreams when Sam put his bowl in the sink. Sam rolled his eyes, but he took the jab good-naturedly. He was tired, mentally and physically. He didn't have it in him to get offended.

He went to his room, grabbed some sleep pants and his toiletries, and then went to shower. He chose a hot shower, bordering on scalding. It helped ease his cramped muscles from having sat in the storage room for so long, and the almost-pain of heat helped distract him. He shaved, he brushed his teeth, and he went back to his room.

It wasn't until this second time entering his room that he noticed the Grace. It was still sitting where he'd left it. On his shelf. All day. Curled up in the bottom of the bottle in a formation that looked kinda disgruntled.

"Uh," he hesitated. "Sorry. I kinda...forgot you were in here for...a few hours."

The Grace didn't reply, though it did seem to turn its back on him. Yeah, he wasn't going to get used to reading bodily cues from something that didn't have eyes. Or a body.

He sighed, tossing his dirty clothes into the small pile he'd made in the corner of his room. He'd have to wash those eventually. He just didn't feel like doing it anytime soon. He made his way over to his bed, pulling the covers down. Once again, he looked over at the Grace. And, once again, it turned around. Sam bit at his bottom lip.

Maybe he shouldn't leave the Grace alone anymore. He wasn't a big fan of getting the cold shoulder.

* * *

Sam knew where he was immediately. The pitch-black darkness was a dead giveaway.

His breath caught in his lungs; his heart began to race.

No, no, no. He wasn't supposed to be here. Not again. He'd gotten out. Hadn't he? He was pretty sure he had. But what if that was one of Lucifer's tricks again?

The sound of thunder and colliding brass shook the area, causing him to flinch and duck down. He put his arms up, wrapped them around his head and tried to protect himself from the vitriol he knew was coming.

And come it did, the burning liquid splattering his arms and portions of his back. He didn't even try to silence the screams that burst out of him at the pain. He kept his eyes shut, listening to the sound of his skin hissing as it was eaten away, listening to the sound of two Archangels clashing together.

Then his body healed. For a time. But it wouldn't last. A minute at most, maybe. Michael and Lucifer seemed to love tearing into each other. Literally. And whenever a cut was made on their blindingly brilliant bodies, this-this _acid_ would rain down on anyone underneath.

Anyone, of course, being Sam and Adam.

Wherever Adam was. Sam hadn't seen him since they'd fallen. The Cage was too massive. For the humans, anyway. The Archangels, being massive themselves, seemed almost cramped.

It was their size that made them so dangerous - made their burning blood dangerous. There was no where for Sam to hide, though he tried. Once he could move without pain, he'd crawl away as fast as he could. Sometimes, if he were lucky, he could manage a sprint. Yet, in the end, another cut would be made, more blood would fall, and Sam would suffer for it.

This time, he made it a good thirty seconds away from where he'd been. At least, he thought it was thirty seconds. Time didn't really exist in eternity. If it did, it passed by far too slowly for his liking.

The resounding gong noise that shook the Cage alerted Sam to his fate. With a whimper, he threw himself to the ground. He tried to curl up into as tight a ball as he could, covering his head as he had before. This time, the liquid fire landed across most of his back. He screamed, again, arching involuntarily at the pain and falling to his side on the ground.

He cried. Whenever was there a time that he _didn't_ cry?

He took a chance in opening his eyes, gasping for air between clenched teeth.

He didn't like to open his eyes in the Cage. It was always so dark, except for the Archangels. They were bright, brighter than the Sun, and the pain they caused him just to see them... And Michael? Sam'd probably burnt out his eyes dozens of times accidentally catching sight of that one. Lucifer hurt him, but he could be seen. Probably because Sam was his Vessel.

Sam quickly regretted opening his eyes. He felt the chill before he saw the light. Lucifer was coming for him again. The Archangel typically did so whenever he was injured too severely - when he needed to recharge by using Sam's soul as power - or whenever he thought Sam was successfully sneaking away.

Sam cried out, trying to crawl away from the light. He couldn't, though. The angelic blood had eaten away to his spine, he knew, and his body hadn't begun to heal yet. His legs weren't working and his arms couldn't drag him fast enough. He looked over his shoulder to see Lucifer.

Lucifer's true form was terrifying and awesome. Light - Grace - glowed brilliantly from underneath an almost crystalline skin. It was an odd effect, a trick of the light maybe, because, though his skin looked as solid as ice, it was malleable. It flexed and moved just like flesh could.

His body was humanoid, for the most part. Sam never really saw all of him at once. He couldn't remember seeing anything past Lucifer's waist, but the arms, all four of them, were human-ish, as was his torso, neck, and head.

Lucifer's face was almost the spitting image of his own. That's why he tried not to look at it. The halo that hovered behind it was fractured, pieces miraculously still clustered together like the rings of Saturn. They probably shone as bright as they had when they were whole. The same could be said about Lucifer's wings, three pairs with feathers as sharp as diamond knives that cracked and splintered like glass under Michael's assaults.

The Archangel could crush him in one hand if he wanted to. Sometimes, he almost would. But that would take away another one of his toys, so he never fully closed his fist around Sam's fragile body. Or soul. Whatever he was in the Cage. No, Lucifer just batted him around like a cat would a mouse.

Not knowing why Lucifer was coming for him only made Sam panic more. He couldn't catch his breath. Moving only made him hurt worse. Yet, he also knew Lucifer would make his pain tenfold if he couldn't get away. So, he tried. Every time he tried. And he never got away. Not once.

With a shout, Sam turned away from Lucifer. He tried to curl into a tiny ball, shutting his eyes and waiting for the inevitable. The sound of the Archangel was almost deafening - melodic but painful.

And then there was the sound of a horn blast. The sound was infinitely louder than a foghorn. It cut through Lucifer's sound and rattled Sam's skull. Then there was screeching. A sound that was like Lucifer's scream whenever Michael got a particularly nasty hit in.

He could hear a scuffle - a fight between giants - and felt the downward gust of wings over him.

Sam took the chance to open his eyes, squinting over his shoulder. He gasped in surprise at what he saw.

Another angel was in the Cage. This one was smaller than Michael and Lucifer. He had four wings instead of six, unlike his brothers. His feathers were whole. Light danced off them like water. Or maybe they were just lit from within that way? The hue cast off this new angel was a pale gold and his halo was pointed at the cardinal directions.

He was fighting Lucifer.

The new angel clawed at Lucifer's face, at his wings, at places on his body that Sam couldn't make out because the light was so bright. Lucifer shrieked and hissed as he was pushed back and kept from his prey.

Sam couldn't figure out why this angel was protecting him.

_"Sam!"_ The angel shouted to him.

He was surprised that he could understand the other. He'd only ever been able to make out Lucifer's threats and taunting before.

But there was another voice underneath the angelic one. That one was the one he understood more. That one was the one that sounded familiar for some reason.

The new angel took a particularly nasty cuff to the head from one of Lucifer's arms. He cried out, shaking the Cage with his voice and his impact with the ground. He didn't stay down, though. With a roar, he rose back up and launched himself at Lucifer.

Sam was crawling away as best as he could from the battle. His body was healing, so that helped, but it was difficult - it would always be difficult - to get out of the way of creatures over a hundred times his size.

Lucifer took the hit easily, though it knocked him back a few steps. He tried to grab the newcomer, but that one dodged his arms.

Then, that angel turned towards Sam.

Maybe the angel wasn't trying to protect him, after all. Maybe he wanted him for himself.

Sam panicked, scrambling faster in his attempt to get away. Because this new angel was coming towards him, and fast. Too fast. Sam couldn't go anywhere. So, he did what he usually did. He curled into a little ball and waited for the agonizing pain that would come.

In seconds, light and heat were beating down on him.

_"Sam, it's not real!"_ The familiar voice echoed in his mind.

He kept waiting, second after second, for the angel to hurt him.

It didn't.

_"C'mon, kiddo, think!"_

Kiddo? Squinting his eyes open, all he could see was the aura of the gold angel. Slowly, he turned to look above him. The angel was there, curved over him like a shell, wings drawn in for further protection.

So... He wasn't trying to hurt him?

Sam tilted his head back to look at the angel's face. It looked familiar, too.

_"You're the only one who can get us out of here, so think! Imagine somewhere else. Before - "_

The angel's words were cut off by a sickening squelch. Sam jerked in surprise, eyes darting to the tip of what looked like an icicle sticking out of the angel's torso. This angel didn't bleed acidic light; he bled Grace.

And he screamed.

Sam screamed, too.

He woke up screaming.

He was screaming, and flailing, and sweating, trapped in his own damn sheets. Jerking himself upright in his bed, he looked around his room frantically.

His room. He wasn't in the Cage, he was in his room. In the Bunker. Lucifer wasn't there. Gabriel.

Gabriel. That had been the other angel. Sam looked over at the Grace on his shelf as he tried to steady his breathing and his heart rate. The Grace was chattering in its own musical language, flashing erratically as it tried to push its way out of the bottle it was trapped in.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice called from the other side of his door, accompanied by a knock. "I need to break the door down, or you okay in there?"

With a stuttered sigh, Sam rubbed at his face.

No. No, he wasn't okay. He'd dreamt of the Cage for the first time in a while, and he knew he wasn't going back to sleep for the night. Probably wouldn't sleep the next night, either.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine," he said loud enough to go through the door. "Just a nightmare."

"You sure? Why's Gabriel's horcrux freakin' out?"

Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes as he groaned, "That's not, technically, what a horcrux is."

"Yeah, you're fine." Dean replied, rapping his knuckles against the door once again. "Listen, I'm here if you need me."

"Yeah. Sure."

Sam listened to his brother's footsteps as he walked away.

His breathing had slowed to normal, heart rate still a bit fast, but he was feeling calmer. Also cooler, because of the sweat on his skin. He furled his nose in distaste at the dampness, yet he felt too exhausted to do anything about it just then.

The Grace had quieted a little, but it was still trying to push its way out of the bottle. Sam watched it for a minute. It looked like it was try to screw the lid off from the inside, and when that didn't work, it tried to push outward on the plastic. Despite how shitty he felt, a small smile tugged at his lips.

He sighed, blinking languidly.

"Look." He began, feeling as if he was talking mostly for himself. "Part of me wants to prod at you for barging into my head uninvited."

The Grace didn't stop its escape efforts, but it did whine at him in annoyance.

"But, as corny as it is to say it, a bigger part of me is very glad you did."

The Grace warbled.

"So. I don't know. Just... I'm tired. Like, really tired. But I don't want to sleep. And you're Grace. You might have mojo like normal angels. I mean, you can dream walk, or whatever.

"If I let you out of there, can you put me to sleep so that I don't...wind up back there?"

The Grace grew quiet for a moment, actually ceasing its actions as if contemplating his words. His request. Then it trilled and began to push against the lid again.

Sam took that as a yes.

He extracted himself from his tangled sheets and walked over to the shelf. Grabbing the bottle, his palm was met with the familiar, warm sensation of the Grace's energy trying to press against him. A warmth, he realized now, was the same heat he'd felt in his nightmare. It wasn't so bad when it wasn't, y'know, numbing his whole body.

Though, now, he kinda would appreciate that sensation. For his mind.

He waited until he was back under his covers to unscrew the lid on the Grace's small prison. The light hovered out of it easily and unhurriedly.

"All right, here's the deal," Sam said, dropping the bottle onto the floor because he simply didn't care if he littered in his room or not. "Knock me out. No dreams. But don't touch me again. Like, don't do that octopus-suction thing you did when you first came out of the Horn. You're not a cat; you don't need to lay on a heat source. Also: Don't go anywhere. Stay in this room. I don't think you want Dean finding you out there in the Bunker. I'm ninety-nine percent sure he doesn't like you."

The Grace somehow managed to sound sassy in its reply.

Then it hovered forward, looking like a snake stretching out, touched his forehead, and Sam was _out_.

He didn't even feel his head hit the pillow.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is the chapter with the sexual content.**

* * *

Days after he'd been given it, Castiel wound up losing the Horn.

Well, it'd been stolen.

He called Sam when he and Dean had just happened to be in the library together. Great timing on that one, Cas.

The angel was almost frantic, talking hurriedly and almost stuttering in his haste. Sam told him to calm down. 'Just breathe, Cas. What's going on?'

Cas had been waiting for a secure location to use the Horn, he said. Somewhere isolated so that, should there be any adverse or invasive effects to its surroundings, innocent people wouldn't get hurt. While he was searching for such a place, he'd left the Horn locked in his vehicle's trunk. He'd thought it was secure there.

He'd been wrong.

Now, he didn't know where it was. He could probably use Gabriel's Grace to track it down, but. He wasn't particularly fond of that idea. Sam had a funny feeling it was because Cas didn't want to offend him by going through with that plan. After all, both of them knew how fragile Grace was when it came to a search spell. And, Sam suspected, Cas knew how _involved_ he was with the Grace.

Sam had called him the day after his Cage-related nightmare. He'd wanted to know about what he'd seen regarding Gabriel's true form. He could have just asked Gabriel about it, later, in a dream. However, he'd been anxious. He hadn't wanted to wait that long. Or risk another nightmare before getting some answers. The thought of using the Grace, again, as a magical sleeping pill had definitely crossed his mind a time or ten.

Castiel had told him that what he'd seen definitely fit an interpretation of Gabriel's true form. Human minds always perceived angels a bit differently than how they saw themselves. That's why Lucifer had looked jerky to him, even in the Cage. As to why Gabriel's true form had been visible to Sam, when the youngest Winchester had never once laid eyes on it before, it was most likely the Grace's doing.

The Grace hadn't lied to him when it claimed Sam had the reins when it came to their dreamscape. Nightmares were intense; they made a human's mind more chaotic. Angels didn't handle chaos well.

It was highly probable that the Grace was only in control of itself and that it adapted its appearance to best fit Sam's mindset. If Sam hadn't thought of Gabriel as his true, larger-than-life self, then Sam would have expected Lucifer to rip the Archangel to shreds. That would have been unfortunate.

Sam had thanked him for humoring him by explaining that stuff to him. Cas had surprised him by apologizing, again, for failing to pull his soul out of the Cage. Sam'd been quick to assure him they were good.

Just as he'd apologized then, Cas apologized to Sam _now_ for losing the Horn. As if it had been his. It was kinda funny, the angel making that assumption.

Cas promised he'd try to find it when he could. He was still following the trail of warring angels, after all. He didn't have the manpower to handle those two tasks at once.

When they hung-up, Dean was deviously amused, smiling obnoxiously down at his plate of scrambled eggs, cooked ham, and bacon. They'd opted for breakfast for dinner, clearly because Dean wanted to spoil himself. Sam could have done without the cholesterol and fat, but, whatever. He wasn't going to lie: It tasted amazing.

"Oh, let's just give him the Horn, Dean," Dean mocked. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Bite me," he grouched.

"I'd rather have what's on my plate, thanks."

"Y'know, giving Cas the Horn wasn't the problem," he said, trying to get to the point. "The problem was the fact it was stolen."

"Uh, yeah. But that - "

"Who stole it?"

"Well, how the hell should I know? I'm not the one with psychic history," Dean mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Sam frowned in distaste, but continued, "Don't you think we should figure that out? Cas has his hands full, and I don't know what else, other than us and him, could have known the Horn was in his possession."

"The Grace?" Dean volunteered, swallowing.

"Hasn't left my room for days."

"Maybe he has access to Angel Radio?"

"He doesn't."

"How do you know?"

"I just know, Dean! Okay? If he had contact with the Host, do you seriously think he'd be so starved for contact that he'd be, I don't know, up our asses all the time?"

"He's only up _your_ ass," Dean pointed out quietly.

Sam took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. He wasn't going to get riled up. He wasn't going to do it. That'd just satisfy Dean. Dean wasn't winning this argument. Nuh-uh.

Sam opened his mouth to respond. He was going to try and derail the conversation. However, he stopped when Dean's expression turned from his usual I'm-being-an-asshole, smug look to something that ran along the vein of are-you-fucking-kidding-me.

He didn't have to look to see what the problem was. He heard it. The celesta. A musical sound that quickly morphed from neutral to pissed off.

Turning his head, Sam wasn't so shocked to see Gabriel's Grace. The glowing ball of energy was spiked as it streaked towards Dean as fast as it could.

Sam was worried for a moment. He was afraid the Grace intended to hurt Dean.

Dean seemed to be thinking the same thing, his brow furrowed in concern. Yet, his jaw was clenched, too. His brother wasn't backing down from whatever Gabriel's Grace intended to do.

Typical Dean.

Surprisingly, the Grace didn't do anything to Dean. Not really. It stopped near Dean's face and shrieked at him, spikes rotating quickly around its core. Dean's eye twitched in an effort not to flinch at the piercing sound; Sam did flinch.

"_Gabriel_," Sam pleaded.

The Grace lowered the volume. Barely. Just enough to not hurt their ears, but enough to remain more than a nuisance. It circled Dean's head.

His brother finally snapped, lashing out with his fork. It was hilarious to watch the two, but Sam wasn't laughing. He didn't want repercussions to fall on the Grace, though he was pretty sure that was going to happen anyway.

At the swat, the Grace dodged and then left Dean to hover near Sam's shoulder. It quieted down to its normal level, but the spiked energy remained.

Dean was not amused.

Sam refused to look like the kid who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Sam?" Dean asked slowly. "Why is he out of his bottle? _Again._"

He shrugged, "I let him out?"

"At the risk of sounding redundant, because we've already had this conversation: Why?"

"I wanted to," Sam replied easily.

"You wanted to?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I wanted to, Dean. Oh, and he's been helping me sleep for the past couple of nights without nightmares. So, I think I'll keep him out of the bottle."

"He -" Dean stopped himself.

His brother composed himself, licking at his bottom lip, and then continued.

"He's been, what, slipping you angel roofies? Reading you bedtime stories?"

"Something like that. Y'know, I'm not really hungry anymore. I think I'll turn in for the night."

"Sam," Dean warned. "Don't do that. Don't -"

Dean paused again, rubbing at his mouth and chin with his hand.

Sam wanted to get up and leave. He wanted to ignore whatever his brother was going to say. Because he was pretty sure it was just going to upset him more than the constant prodding. He didn't leave, though. Maybe Dean would surprise him. He hoped Dean would surprise him.

"Look. I just... We've already been tricked by one angel."

Sam twitched. No. No, _they_ hadn't been tricked by Gadreel. Dean had. Sam hadn't even known what he was agreeing to. Sam hadn't known he was possessed for months. Until it was too late and Kevin was dead.

He'd had no choice in the matter when it came to what Gadreel had done to him and his body. However, with Gabriel's Grace, Sam had a choice. The Grace respected his choices. For the most part. Okay, so, he'd stepped into the line of fire against Lucifer, but _he'd stepped into the line of fire against Lucifer. _Sam wasn't going to fault him for taking initiative in that particular incident. He'd told the Grace as much.

And here was Dean, ignoring him and his judgment once again. Because, according to Dean, Sam couldn't make decisions for himself. Sam couldn't take care of himself. Not in the way Dean wanted him to.

Sam scoffed.

"If he wanted to try something, he would have done it by now," he replied cooly. "He would have done it in the storage room when I first laid hands on the Horn. Or when he attached himself to my face. When _you_ commanded me to keep him in my room. When he broke out of that mason jar. He's had every opportunity to hurt me _or_ you.

"But he hasn't. He's not made one move against me, and just now he stopped short and only yelled at you. He showed _restraint_.

"We can keep going in circles about this, Dean, but all signs point to Gabriel's Grace being harmless to us. And he can still help us. So, can we bury this argument and move on?"

Dean frowned uncomfortably. He shifted in his seat, eyes roaming the table as he thought about Sam's words. Regardless of his feelings about the Trickster, Dean had to admit that Sam's logic was sound. He _had_ to. Because it wasn't like Dean hadn't used the same reasoning before. To pull some stupid double-standard now would just add insult to injury.

His brother eventually sighed.

"Fine. I don't like it, but you kinda have a point." Dean pointed at the Grace with his fork, "But if he fucks up my kitchen or messes with my head the way he does yours, his ass is grass."

Sam rolled his eyes. The Grace grumpily responded, spikes evening out to the normal, undulating energy pattern it usually held.

He decided to finish his dinner. Dean kept giving the Grace the stink-eye the entire time. The Grace didn't seem to notice. Sam was sure it _did_ notice, but, well, Gabriel. Instead, it floated leisurely around the library, making slow laps around the area as if it were mapping out the place. It probably was.

After depositing his dish in the sink in the kitchen, Sam went back to his room for the night. The Grace followed him like a dog.

"You were supposed to stay in my room," he accused, watching the Grace float across his room.

Its response was an annoyed set of notes.

"Anyway." Ignoring the Grace's progress, he walked over to his dresser to pull out a change of clothes. "I take it you heard our conversation with Castiel?"

The whine the Grace gave clearly expressed how, yes, it had and, yes, it wasn't happy. Sam sighed, flinging his old shirt onto the dirty pile ever-growing in the corner. He put on his new one, a grey, thinning V-neck. Once his head'd popped through, he looked over his shoulder to look at the Grace. It was hovering near the small, AM/FM radio he'd brought in two days ago to keep it entertained while he was out. Sam frowned.

"Sorry about, y'know, losing the Horn. I mean, I know you didn't like it, but -"

The Grace interrupted him to make a dismissive noise, moving away from the radio.

Sam shrugged with one shoulder as he removed and his jeans. He threw them to join the shirt on the pile.

"Still. It's kind of an important object," he replied, stepping into his black sleep pants. "We'll get it back. Somehow."

The Grace didn't respond to that. It hovered near his bed, waiting for him. He knew it was expecting him to ask it to knock him out again.

He wasn't going to lie, he'd been taking advantage of that little trick. Even so, the Grace didn't seem to mind. It didn't appear to be weakening from the action, either. Sam wasn't feeling _too_ guilty about using it for sleep aid. Beat alcohol any day.

Yet, tonight, Sam was going to change their routine up a little.

"I need to dream tonight," Sam told the Grace. "I want to talk to you, so..."

The Grace warbled.

* * *

Sam was sitting on the ground. The dampness of the earth beneath him was seeping into his sleep pants. His back was pressed against something sturdy and rough. A tree, Sam realized, going by the shadow of branches and leaves cast onto the grass in front of him and on him.

The tree was a giant. It had to be. Its roots were thick wherever they breached the dirt. The air was cool because of the shade it provided. Beyond said shade, the sun was bright. A thick, green forest with plenty of undergrowth stretched beyond the mostly clear area he and the tree sat in.

Birds were chirping, insects buzzing, and Sam was pretty damn sure such a stereotypically scenic environment was not his doing.

His eyes traveled from his outstretched legs to the pair beside him. They followed them, up Gabriel's body, to stare at the Archangel's face.

Sam almost laughed. Gabriel was pouting, arms folded tightly across his chest, as he glared out towards the landscape.

"I've said it once and I'll say it again: Your brother's a dick," Gabriel bit.

Sam _did_ laugh at that. He turned back to face the forest and let his head thud gently against the tree trunk behind him.

"You know," Sam replied, "one time, you said you liked him."

He cut his eyes back towards Gabriel just in time to see him furl his nose.

"Why? He's a jerk."

"So were you."

Gabriel huffed.

"Plus, both your senses of humor are -"

"All right. I get it."

Sam smirked, deviously pleased with himself. It was fun teasing Gabriel.

"What's with the trees?" He asked the Archangel.

Gabriel shrugged. "They've got history. They're symbolic. Thought I'd be cheeky by conjuring them up. Thought you might like 'em."

"Uh-huh," Sam drawled, brow furrowed in amusement. "And what does that mean _exactly?_"

"What? You don't recognize it?" Gabriel asked, tone of voice taunting but only just. "You've been here before. Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Joshua was always moving things around. Who knows how much this place has changed since I been gone?"

Sam frowned, "Joshua? Why does that name sound familiar?"

Gabriel gave him a _look_. It was the look he used to give them all the time when he thought they were being too dumb, even for them. He sighed and rolled his eyes. Sam flinched in surprise when Gabriel lightly tapped him on the forehead with the back of his fingers. Not an angelic tap, just a quick pap.

"Do you even use that thing in there, or is everything of yours just for show?" The Archangel mocked.

"Do you know how many names I come across a day?" Sam griped, glaring down at the other.

"How many times do you die and walk the Axis Mundi?" Gabriel gave a faux gasp, "Oops, I've said too much."

Axis Mundi? The road that was the backbone of Heaven. The road Dean and he had walked many years ago, after being shot by some Hunters that had been hell-bent on taking revenge for the whole Apocalypse thing. A road that lead to the Garden and a kind, old man who was really its angelic caretaker. _That _Joshua. Which meant that he was currently sitting in:

"Eden? This is Eden?"

"Oh, wouldja look at that! He figured it out."

"Why would you choose here?"

Gabriel shrugged easily, "Honestly? Not so sure myself. Probably wanted to show off. Make an impression.

"Eden was relatively safe, once upon a time. This was before Lucifer got in. ...I figured he wouldn't bother you here."

Sam gave a breathless half-chuckle. To be honest, he'd avoided dreaming every night because he'd been afraid of this conversation. Well, he'd been afraid of _a_ conversation. He'd thought, maybe, Gabriel would be angry with him for what had happened in the nightmare. The Archangel'd been stabbed, after all. Or, maybe Gabriel would demand to know more about the Cage to satisfy his curiosity, like how he'd summoned up the Mystery Spot. That was the last thing Sam wanted.

But, no. Seemed like Gabriel actually went the opposite direction. He tried to _protect_ him again. Sam smiled and shook his head.

"You conjured up Paradise for me to keep out the Boogeyman?" He smirked.

Gabriel smiled back, "See? Told you I was trying to impress ya. Just stay away from the apples and you'll be fine, kiddo."

Sam _did_ chuckle at that.

"Were they really apples?"

"Nope," Gabriel replied easily. "But don't tell the PR peeps."

The smile slowly faded from the Archangel's lips. The mirth left his eyes, too, only to replaced by a sort of melancholy. Sam didn't like the shift. He didn't like the way Gabriel broke eye contact to stare blankly over his shoulder.

His own smile faded.

"Why did you want to talk to me, Sam?" Gabriel asked gently, though a hidden emotion laced his voice. "Guessin' you boys need some more info, huh?"

"What?" Sam asked, genuinely surprised. "What? No! I mean... Well, yeah, I guess we do. I probably should be quizzing you over, like, everything, now that you mention it. But... That's not why."

Gabriel frowned, drawing his eyes back to Sam's. They flicked from one of Sam's to the other and back.

He was concerned. About Sam.

And that was the reason, wasn't it?

Sam shrugged, raising his eyebrows once as he turned away to stare out at the Garden.

"You listen," was all he said.

He could feel Gabriel staring at the side of his face. The way he had nights ago, when he couldn't even form a human body yet. It felt like the Archangel was looking through him instead of at him. And he probably was, Sam realized. They were in _his head_, after all. How was it that the Archangel _couldn't_ read him? All of him.

Surprisingly, Sam didn't seem to care.

He heard Gabriel exhale a laugh through his nose. He looked over at the Archangel. Gabriel had his head bowed, self-depreciating smile on his face as he picked at some grass growing between them.

"I'm flattered, Sam," Gabriel tried to joke, "but I'm probably the last person you should be depending on."

"And what if I want to, anyway?"

Gabriel genuinely smiled at that, amused. He looked up at Sam and shrugged with his hands.

"Then, I guess I'll be here."

Sam stared at him for a moment. He took in his amber eyes, good-natured mischief dancing behind them. He took in his golden-brown hair and how the light danced off the highlights.

Light that was pouring in through the leaves of a tree in the Garden of Eden. Paradise that had been summoned for him. To keep him safe.

Sam couldn't get over that. Just like he couldn't get over how Gabriel had thrown himself between Sam and Lucifer. Lucifer, the brother that Gabriel had been so afraid to face once upon a time. But Gabriel _had _faced him. Not just in a dream, but in real life, too. Years ago. He'd let Sam escape from the angel that wanted to use him to destroy everything, and he'd done so by laying down his life.

To hell with it, Sam thought. It was his choice and, besides, it was a dream. So, what would it hurt?

He lifted his hands to grasp Gabriel's face, watched the brief flicker of confusion flash across the Archangel's features before he closed his eyes, and then pressed his lips firmly against the other's. They were soft, they were warm, and Sam was relieved when they didn't hesitate to press back against his.

Encouraged, Sam parted his lips to suck on Gabriel's bottom lip. The Archangel hummed. Sam felt the other's hands grasp the front of his shirt, not really pulling him closer but conveying the message that he didn't want Sam sneaking away either. So, Sam pushed forward, hands leaving Gabriel's face to travel down his neck and shove gently at his chest.

Gabriel let Sam push him slowly down to the ground, careful not to hit the tree beside them. Sam fit neatly between his opened legs. The thought of their position aroused him faster than anything. Except, maybe, the sound the Archangel made when Sam put his hand firmly on his hip, pressing his fingers into the denim of Gabriel's jeans.

Those would have go at some point. Sam'd made up his mind about that, too.

He deepened their kiss, licking quickly at Gabriel's lips. Gabriel's tongue darted out to meet his, a little cat lick, before he opened his mouth for Sam.

Gabriel teased him a little, brushing his tongue against Sam's and blocking him. Sam could feel an amused smile in his actions. But then he stopped, moaning happily as he let Sam lick at the inside of his mouth while he placed his hands gently on Sam's waist.

Sam got the feeling that Gabriel was being careful with him. Though he liked and appreciated the sentiment, that wasn't exactly what he had in mind with this little tryst.

He changed tactics, drawing his lips from Gabriel's with a quick nip at the bottom one and then moved to the Archangel's neck. He nuzzled under Gabriel's chin, tilting the other's head back so he could place bruising kisses along the long, pale stretch of flesh.

_That_ caught Gabriel's attention. The Archangel inhaled sharply and arched up into Sam. His hands dug into Sam's waist on reflex. Sam desperately wanted to know what they'd feel like clawing down his back. He bit particularly hard at the thought, cock twitching impatiently. Gabriel whined.

"You're really good at that," Gabriel said shakily, breath shallow and hot.

Sam moved his hand from Gabriel's hip to press it firmly against the other's erection that he _knew_ was there. Gabriel's whole body jerked.

"Oh-ho! And that."

Sam grinned, smug, before he moved back up to kiss Gabriel again. Gabriel responded eagerly, deepening the kiss. Fingers tangled in Sam's hair, pulling firmly but not enough to hurt. Sam trembled and groaned at the feeling. Leave it to his mind's most constant visitor to know how to push the right buttons.

Removing his palm from where it'd been cupping Gabriel, Sam slid his arms underneath the Archangel's jacket and undershirt. Gabriel's back was warm and smooth, barely any sweat. Sam wasn't sure if that was an angel thing or if he just hadn't been riled up enough. But if it was the latter? Sam was going to make damn sure he fixed that problem.

He dug his fingers in-between the other's shoulder blades. Gabriel broke their kiss to cry out, tossing his head back and bearing his throat. Sam moaned at the sight, finally pressing his crotch against Gabriel's and rolling his hips. He gasped at the friction and the way Gabriel rocked up into him. The way he mewled and twitched in pleasure. How his pupils were blown wide when he looked up at Sam, mouth open as he panted.

Sam, once again, pressed his fingers into Gabriel's back, curious to see if he'd get the same reaction again. And he did. Gabriel tried not to shout, clenching his teeth together as he tipped his head back again. Instead, he whined as he trembled in Sam's arms, tightening his legs against Sam as he grinded against him.

Sam didn't know why he was getting that reaction and he didn't care. All that mattered, he thought, as he leaned down to lick, bite, and suck at Gabriel's neck again - to claim - was that he got it at all. He wanted Gabriel, that much was true. But he wanted to pleasure Gabriel, too. He didn't want to just take and give nothing in return. That wasn't what this was about.

Nipping at Gabriel's earlobe, Sam began to grind against him in earnest. Gabriel moved against him, as well, moving his arms to wrap them around Sam's shoulders, where he clung tightly. It was odd, having clothes in the way. Maybe they should have removed a few layers. But Sam didn't want to stop, and he was pretty sure Gabriel didn't want to either, so he dealt with it.

He continued to press against Gabriel's back, loving the way it made him fall apart under him. He listened to his gasps and the way he breathlessly said, 'Sam.' Repeating his name over and over again as if it were a chant. Or a prayer.

Then Gabriel tensed, digging his nails into Sam's shoulders. But it was wrong. That hadn't been an orgasm.

"Sam," Gabriel warned.

Worried, Sam lifted himself up to look at Gabriel's face. The Archangel looked more than spooked. He looked downright frightened.

"What? What is it?" Sam asked, arousal fading as anxiousness took its place.

Gabriel inhaled sharply through his nose, grabbing desperately at Sam as his eyes unfocused. Sam thought about moving, but that's as far as he got. A thought.

Because, then, light was shining in the center of the Archangel's eyes. Sam frowned in confusion. Then, he shouted in pain as all of Gabriel erupted into light. Sam shut his eyes, listening to the Archangel scream, true voice louder than he'd ever heard it before. His arms felt like they were burning where they touched Gabriel's back.

And then there was silence.

Sam fell to the ground.

Though it wasn't far to drop, it was still a jarring sensation. Because that meant there wasn't a body where there should have been one.

When Sam opened his eyes, he was in his room. The small lamp he'd left on when he'd gone to bed was off. So was the radio's bright red numbers. In fact, _nothing_ was on in his room.

That wasn't a good sign.

Sam didn't waste time. He sat upright in his bed, eyes scanning his room for the Grace. It wasn't there. He knew it wouldn't be.

A terrible feeling hit the bottom of his stomach like a weight.

He flung the covers off himself, long legs flailing to reach the floor. Standing up, he rushed for his door. He wrenched it open, not caring how it tried to bounce off its hinges. The lights outside in the hallway were off, too. Stepping blindly into the darkness, Sam looked back and forth. He saw no light anywhere, meaning no Grace.

The sinking feeling got worse.

Suddenly, the lights came back on.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted Dean in his peripheral to his right. He startled Dean, too. His brother flinched, pointing his drawn gun at Sam. Sam side-stepped to get out of the way of its sight. He knew Dean wouldn't shoot until he was sure what he was aiming at, but it was still jarring having a gun pointed at him.

"Dude!" Dean hissed, lowering his weapon, eyes wide. "What the hell?"

"I don't know," Sam exhaled. "I-I think I know, but I'm not sure?"

"Lemme guess," Dean said, switching his gun's safety on and then placing it in the back of his pants. "The Grace?"

Sam worried his bottom lip with his teeth.

"Dean." Sam hesitated. "Dean, I think something's happened."

"Uh, yeah," Dean nodded. "The Grace cut the power, or some shit. Didja piss it off again? Where is the little fuck, anyway?"

"That's the thing, Dean. I don't think he's here." Sam tried to ignore the prickling sensation at the back of his eyes. "I'm not entirely sure he's anywhere?"

Dean frowned, taking in Sam's appearance. The annoyed tension drained out of his body, replaced by muted concern. That only made Sam feel worse, for some reason. Then Dean's eyes lighted on his arms and widened.

"Jesus, Sammy!" Dean shouted.

Sam jumped a little when Dean rushed forward to grab at his wrists. Dean brought his arms up so he could see them in the light. Sam was just as shocked as his brother to see faint burns on them. Nothing too serious. Just a bad sunburn. Problem was...he shouldn't have burns at all. Not outside the dream.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, too stunned and confused to be angry.

"I -" Sam stuttered. "I was holding the Grace. In my dream. And then it, like... Like an angel when it dies."

That was the sinking feeling Sam had. It was grief. Because he had a very strong feeling that the Grace was gone. Gabriel was gone. He'd had him, and he'd lost him.

What else was new?

"You were _holding_ him?" Dean questioned, looking up from Sam's arms. "Why?"

Sam made the mistake of not replying fast enough. Of not saying anything to dodge the question. He was too busy trying to breathe evenly, after all. And Dean, taking one look at the expression on his face, quickly put two-and-two together.

His brother looked at him like he'd grown another head.

"Seriously? _Seriously?_"

"Drop it, Dean," he mumbled lifelessly, pulling his wrists out of Dean's hold.

Miraculously, Dean did.


	7. Chapter 7

Weeks passed.

Weeks of Sam being in such a 'funk' that his brother wouldn't even mention the word Grace in his presence. Sam didn't know whether or not to be thankful. On the one hand, he was glad Dean was trying to not hurt his feelings for once or tease him. On the other... He kinda felt like he was being treated with kid gloves. Again. Whatever.

Weeks of Sam thinking he broke everything he touched. That there was something fundamentally wrong with him and that there always would be. It was a feeling he was accustomed to. He should be numb to it. Yet, every once in a while, something would happen that just exceeded his personal level of fucked up. Like when he'd had monsters hinting at how much of a freak he was because he was being held together with duct tape and safety pins. Or, now, when he'd convinced himself he'd killed all that was left of an Archangel that had died for him and humanity.

And the worst part was not knowing _how_. How had he done it? What had gone wrong? Was he not... Was he not supposed to get intimately close with Gabriel? Did he overload something? Was it his demon blood interfering with whatever psychic link they had going on? Sam thought of everything, but nothing could ever be proven. And it didn't matter the cause, anyway. What mattered was that it'd happened at all.

He kept his sleeves rolled down until the burns faded away. He couldn't stand to see them on his arms.

The nightmares came back. No one was there to chase them away. Now, there was one more to add to them. Some nights he didn't even go to sleep. Dean _did_ get onto him for that. Sam didn't care.

They never found the Horn. Not that it mattered anymore to Sam if they did. The reason he wanted to make sure it was safe was gone. Objectively, he knew they should retrieve it in case its powers were used for evil, or something. Too bad he was having trouble thinking objectively about anything.

When Cas did finally call them back, it was to say he had a lead on Metatron and Gadreel. Turned out, Gadreel was working for Metatron. It explained a lot, actually. Why the angel had killed Kevin and taken the Angel Tablet.

Gadreel was also the one going around killing angels. He was luring them to warehouses with a sigil - an angel siren Cas had said - and slaughtering any that didn't agree to join Metatron's side.

He had to be stopped.

They wanted answers from him.

So, Cas took Auburn, Utah. They took Ogden. The plan was to meet in the middle.

Shit went down before they got there. Naturally. Ian, a Hunter supplier that had helped them on an old case, they found dead in his shop, eyes burned from his head. Sam tried not to remember Kevin. He failed.

As for Gadreel? He'd long fled the scene of the crime. With the ingredients for another siren. They were on the clock. Who knew how long it'd been ticking?

They found him, eventually. Lured him out using Sam as bait. He walked right into the Holy Oil circle lying on the ground for him. Dean lit it from above. 'Remember me?' Sam demanded. He was furious and hurt as he glared at the angel across from him. Gadreel... He seemed almost regretful. Too bad Sam didn't care.

Sam wanted his revenge. Retribution. Anything. He deserved it. He deserved to confront the piece of shit that had made him kill Kevin. Made him kill other people he didn't even know. So what if he'd healed him? Sam hadn't wanted that. He'd wanted to die so no one else would get hurt _because of him_.

Look what happened.

But, he snapped too soon. Gadreel hit a nerve when he said his insides reeked of shame and weakness. It hurt because it was true. This _asshole_ knew so much about him, and he used that knowledge against him. So, Sam punched him in his stupidly smug face.

Dean dragged him away. His brother told him he was too close to _this._ Sam was floored. 'What and you're not?' He questioned. But Dean didn't back down. He made Sam go after Cas. His brother had called the angel multiple times and still received no answer.

Reluctantly, Sam followed Dean's orders. When he walked into Cas' motel room almost an hour later, he was glad he had. Cas wasn't there. Instead, Metatron was. The creepy, little rat had been waiting for him. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, pointing a useless gun at the angel out of reflex.

Metatron gave him an ultimatum. Bring Gadreel to him around six, and he'd hand over Castiel. If not? Castiel dies. No coming back this time.

Sam agreed to the deal. It hurt him to hand over the creature responsible for...well. But, it'd hurt more to lose Cas. And he wasn't some sorry SOB who'd let his friend die because of something as stupid as revenge. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure about Dean.

In his right mind, Dean wouldn't endanger either of them, him or Cas, to get answers. But the Mark seemed to be getting worse. And Sam'd left Dean alone with Gadreel.

Sam called Dean. He prayed his brother hadn't done anything stupid. Please, don't let them have doomed Cas, too. He'd never forgive himself for that. When Dean didn't answer his phone? He drove as fast as he could get away with back to Ogden. The entire time, he dreaded what he'd find.

He was shocked to see Gadreel out of his chains, a trail of blood leading out of the binding sigil they'd drawn on the floor. He called out for his brother, fearing the worst and not understanding what had happened.

But, Dean was fine. Physically. Mentally, he seemed exhausted. Dean rambled on about how Gadreel had wanted to die, and he wanted to kill him, but he didn't because they needed the angel to talk. Sam glanced at the broken, bloody Gadreel lying unconscious on the floor next to Dean.

Sam didn't understand any of it. He had a vague idea, but he still didn't get it. So, he didn't address that issue. No, he addressed the other one. He told Dean about Metatron holding Cas and about the trade to get him back. He suggested they use this moment to trap Metatron. Dean agreed.

The trap didn't work. Metatron had been expecting them to do it. He blew his way out of the Holy Fire as if he were blowing out the candles on a cake. But he kept his word, as he'd said he would. He released Castiel to them; Gadreel returned to his master.

The look Gadreel gave him when he stepped out of the trunk... Sam didn't know what to make of it.

Metatron left them - Cas, Dean, and him - standing in the middle of the parking lot.

Together, they decided to take out Metatron from the inside. Find the 'stairway to Heaven' and get the jump on him. It sounded impossible, but they were known for doing the impossible. They had to do _something_.

Cas found out about the Mark. He must have sensed it on Dean. He wasn't happy about it. Dean dismissed their friend's concern. A means to an end, that's all it was. Sam worriedly looked over at Cas. He wanted to know what the angel had to say about the Mark.

...He hadn't asked the only other angel that could have told them about it.

He didn't get to ask Cas, though. He didn't really have time. Dean wanted to leave, and pronto. With the command to watch after his brother, Sam and Cas said good-bye to one another.

Sam got in the Impala.

Dean drove off.

And not fifteen minutes down the road, headed south, Cas called Sam's phone. Sam frowned at the caller ID. He didn't know what the angel wanted. Probably forgotten something. Maybe he wanted to tell Sam about the Mark, after all? Whatever it was, Sam didn't take long to answer the call.

"Forget something, Cas?" Sam asked, his brother giving him a confused look from the driver's seat.

"Sam, you need to turn around," Castiel replied, tone scarily serious. "Now."

"What? Why? What's wrong?"

Sam shifted in his seat and looked over at Dean, brow furrowed in concern. He twirled his finger in the air to signal Dean to turn around. His brother threw up his hands in exasperation, but he began to look for a place to exit the highway, anyway.

"I didn't tell you two what happened while I'd been captured," Cas admitted. "I... I was afraid it would upset you. But, something's come up and I think you need to know now."

"Get to the point, Cas," Sam commanded, nerves on edge.

The angel inhaled on the other end of the line, then said, "I ran into Gabriel."

Sam was pretty sure his brain ceased all functions for a few seconds. When it resumed, so many questions ran through his head that he had problems pinning them down. All he got was an overwhelming sensation of confusion, doubt, and hope all rolled into one.

"You-you did what?" He stuttered.

"I thought it was an illusion. Something Metatron had pulled. He was writing a script. Told me he wanted to tell a story.

"Anyway, he used Gabriel to try and teach me a lesson. Gabriel appeared in a...very inappropriate television show, and then he was in my motel room. He said something. I'm sorry I didn't catch it at first, or didn't think it was important -"

"Cas, just..." Sam exhaled slowly to calm himself as Dean took an exit. "I'm not judging you. Just get to the point."

"Right. He told me that - he thought - Metatron had dug up the Horn of Gabriel and used it."

Sam frowned, pulse beginning to race.

"What?" Dean hissed as he took brought them to the north-bound ramp. "What is it?"

Sam waved his hand at his brother to get him to shut up. Dean pouted angrily.

"That's not true, though," Sam stated dumbly. "_We_ had the Horn. ...Oh, God. Metatron took it, didn't he?"

"It's a very strong and unfortunate possibility," Cas agreed solemnly. "But it gets worse. Gabriel was lured by it. 'Safety in numbers,' he'd said."

Sam swallowed nervously, "Did he say when?"

"Weeks ago."

Sam bit the inside of his lip.

That was it. That had to be what'd happened to the Grace. It _had_ to be. The timing was too great. And the Grace had said he'd been bound to the Horn. It wasn't too farfetched to think Metatron using it would have yanked the Grace away from him and to the douchebag. Like a call - a summoning ritual too powerful to resist.

Maybe... Maybe he hadn't doomed the Grace, after all?

"I'm thinking the angel siren that Gadreel used works like the Horn. Or, it draws power from it somehow. It emits a sound like Heaven. I digress. The point is: Gadreel doesn't have the Horn, so Metatron must have it. Or he's hidden it somewhere. And I think I know where," Castiel finished.

"How?" Sam asked.

"Like I said, I thought Gabriel was an illusion, but..." Castiel paused, gathering his thoughts. "In retrospect he was acting...off. Not himself. I mean, I only really met him once, but.

"He seemed drained. Lifeless. Like he was just 'reading a script' as he called it. Only when I revealed everything as fake did he start to act more..._Gabriel_.

"I asked him if he _was_ dead, and he didn't answer. He just wiggled his eyebrows at me. Kind of infuriating, really."

Sam couldn't help it. He chuckled. Dean gave him an impatient, imploring look. His brother wanted to know why the hell he was wasting gas going back the way they'd come, no doubt. Sam ignored him.

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Sam told Cas with a small smile.

"There's a paper here that wasn't here before," Cas explained. "I know for certain that I didn't write it, and it has Gabriel's signature on it. Well, one of his many sigils. I think he left it here. Even if I was in an illusion... I think this was his way of leaving a breadcrumb. I think he's alive, Sam."

Sam shut his eyes, digesting that admission.

_That_ was too good to be true. Too much to hope for. Yet, Cas did have a lot of fine points in his argument, his explanation. He couldn't deny them; he didn't want to. And Gabriel was really good at leaving breadcrumbs.

"What's the paper say?" He asked, trying to think of the job at hand.

"They're coordinates," Cas replied. "Somewhere in Layton, just north of here. I can send them to you. There's also the number seven. Not sure why."

"Right. Okay," Sam breathed. "What about you?"

"I need to remain here. I have a mess to clean up before I move on. However, if this does lead to the Horn... I could still use it. Now that I know what it does, it would be extremely useful in gathering the angels before Gadreel can get to them. Plus, who knows? Maybe Gabriel will follow the sound again, if he's willing."

"Yeah, maybe..." He mumbled. "Listen, thanks, Cas. For everything. We'll call you back after we check this out."

"You're welcome, Sam. And thank you."

He huffed a laugh at the angel's manners and then hung up. He felt buzzed, caught somewhere between anxiousness and optimism. Soon, his phone buzzed with a text message. He opened it immediately.

"Okay, _now_ do you wanna tell me what the hell's going on?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"Uh, yeah," Sam replied, distracted as he copied the coordinates from the message. "Cas thinks he's got a lead on the Horn."

"_Now?_" Dean bit. "After weeks of nothing, _now _he's got somethin'? What the hell took him so long? Also, why isn't _he_ going after it? Why we gotta do it?"

"Because he's busy, Dean," Sam said, loading the map to the address he'd been given. "And we're kinda not. Not right now. It's not far from here, anyway. 'bout forty-three minutes north."

He frowned, "Looks to be a storage facility."

"Ugh. Seriously? Why's it always storage sheds and warehouses?"

"Maybe Metatron's taking tips from Crowley?"

"Ha-ha, not funny." Dean frowned, "So, you're saying Metatron stole the Horn?"

"That's the theory."

"Based on what?"

"Gabriel."

Dean slowly looked from the road to stare at him. Sam really wished he wouldn't do that. That's how accidents happen.

"It's a long story," Sam said. "Just drive. Please."

Dean growled but did as he was told.

* * *

The Impala slowed to a stop in the parking lot of a storage facility that was in the middle of nowhere. Okay, so it wasn't really the middle of _nowhere_, but it was in a pretty sparsely populated area of the city. Hell, there was a corn field on one side of it! Yeah, Sam could see why the location would appeal to Metatron.

Oh, and there wasn't even any surveillance cameras. Just perfect. For them.

"Wow," Dean commented, cutting the engine as he glanced at the long line of storage units. "Fancy digs."

Sam scoffed, "I don't think Metatron aims for flashy when trying to hide something. Unassuming seems to be more his thing."

"Well, then, give him the gold star." Dean leaned forward to see out Sam's window, "You think there's anyone working the main office?"

"Probably."

"Great. Cas didn't happen to say which shed to look in, did he?"

Sam frowned, going over their conversation in his head.

"Seven, I think. He said there were coordinates on the paper along with the number seven. That's gotta be the unit number. It'd only make sense."

"Alright. I'll distract whoever's workin'. You pretend to be an innocent, interested civilian scoping the place."

Sam nodded his assent. They both exited the car at the same time. Dean fiddled with the angel blade hidden in his jacket pocket. Knowing their luck - and going from previous experience - the person running the joint probably _was_ an angel.

A chain-link fence was between the storage units and the parking lot but, thankfully, it was open. It'd be a bit hard for him to pretend to be an _innocent_ civilian if he had to break in in broad daylight.

Dean branched off, heading for the small office room in the front. His brother nodded at him, signaling for him to keep going.

Sam stepped through the open fence as he heard Dean open the door to the office and cheerfully greet whomever was inside. He made sure to keep walking - to act like he knew what he was doing and that he belonged there. If he thought himself suspicious, he'd look suspicious. Confidence was the key to avoiding detection.

The units themselves were plain. Medium-sized, concrete rooms all attached to one another with corrugated metal doors painted an ugly orange color. Each one had a padlock on the front. Luckily, he knew how to get past those.

As he approached his destination, he noticed some building supplies leaning up against one of the doors. Some wide planks of wood, sandbags, rope. Really generic building supplies that wouldn't do much of anything by themselves. Naturally, they were leaning up against door number seven.

Not the best way to camouflage something, Sam thought. He moved the supplies to side quickly, and then took a better look at the unit.

Number seven looked like nothing special, by itself. No fancy warding. None that he could see, anyway. It had the same boring padlock as the rest. All-in-all, Metatron didn't seem particularly worried that someone would find the Horn.

If it was in there at all, Sam thought bitterly. Yet, he didn't think Gabriel would send them on a wild goose chase. Not in regards to the Horn. Then again, it was possible that Gabriel hadn't left the paper. Maybe Metatron had? But Sam trusted Cas' judgment on this, too.

Sam huffed. He was going in circles. If the Horn was in there, it was in there. If it wasn't, if this was a trap, then it was a trap. The only way he'd find out was if he opened the damn door.

Checking over his shoulder and seeing no one looking, no hidden cameras, Sam reached into his jeans' pocket and pulled out a paperclip. He bent down to the lock then snapped the paperclip in two. Bending the ends so that they made an L-shape, he began to pick the lock.

It didn't take long for the padlock to snap open. He pocketed it and the paperclip pieces, making sure there would be no evidence of tampering if someone did decide to investigate. Grabbing the bottom of the door, Sam pulled it upwards. It slid easily into the ceiling.

Sam froze, his arms still above his head, when he saw what was inside.

It wasn't the Horn.

It was Gabriel.

Gabriel. The Archangel. Lying on the floor in the back of the unit like a puppet cut from his strings. He was surrounded - trapped - by Holy Fire, the deadly light illuminating his features eerily.

It hadn't been the location to the Horn. Gabriel had given Cas the directions to find _him._ To _save_ him.

Sam moved quickly, almost without thinking, relying on instinct. The Holy Fire circle would have to be broken so that he could free Gabriel, so he grabbed one of the wide planks of wood he had moved moments before and rushed into the shed.

The plank made a loud clap as it hit the concrete floor, but he didn't care about noise. He didn't care if he was caught. All that mattered was making sure Gabriel was alive. Because the Archangel hadn't even flinched at the sound or the gust of air that had blown the hair from his face.

Sam crossed the wood quickly, grabbed Gabriel as best he could given the angle, and dragged him out of the circle, mindful to not let any part of him touch the flames. The wood began to burn once the Archangel was off it, but Sam didn't care about that, either. He stumbled in his haste, but he managed to catch himself by dropping to his knees.

Gabriel was limp in his arms.

Sam's heart was pounding in his chest as he repositioned the Archangel, wrapping his left arm tightly around Gabriel's torso and pulling him up into a haphazard sitting position. Placing his right hand firmly at the base of Gabriel's skull, fingers sliding easily through his soft hair, Sam tilted his head so he could see his face.

He looked different. It wasn't just the slight change in hairstyle or the dark clothes. Even with his eyes closed, Sam could see the fatigue around them. Like he hadn't slept in forever. When angels didn't sleep.

"Hey," Sam said, shaking Gabriel once to try and rouse him. "Hey! Gabriel? Gabriel! Wake up! Come on. Wake up."

He felt, rather than saw, Gabriel move, the muscles in his back jerking once.

"Come on, Gabriel, open your eyes. Just open your eyes. Look at me."

The Archangel's brow twitched, tiny frown pulling at his lips. He opened his eyes. Barely. Eyelids cracking open halfway to reveal unfocused, glowing eyes, before they blinked closed.

Glowing eyes. Grace shining out where it wasn't supposed to.

"No, no, no," Sam muttered. "No! Gabriel. Don't you dare."

He pulled the Archangel closer to him, wrapping both his arms tighter around the other and pressing their chests together. Gabriel's head lolled onto his shoulder.

"Don't you dare. Fight it, damn you. You _fight_, you hear me? You stay with me."

Sam needed help. He needed to get Gabriel out of here and somewhere safe. Somewhere the angels couldn't get to him; somewhere he could heal in peace. Sam didn't think he could do that on his own.

"Dean!" He shouted over his shoulder. "Dean!"

God, he was an idiot. Like his brother could hear him from where he was.

Sam startled when he heard Gabriel groan against his shoulder. It was a tired and annoyed sound. Like someone who didn't want to get up in the morning. It helped ease his mind a little. Gabriel being annoyed was better than Gabriel being half-dead and unresponsive.

"Hold on," he told the angel quietly.

He shifted Gabriel's weight to one arm so he could reach into his pocket for his phone. He'd call his brother, or text if he had to. He needed Dean's help moving Gabriel. Sam could lift him, that wasn't the problem, it was getting him to the car and in it that was.

His fingers had just touched the base of his phone when he heard Dean's voice.

"So. Funny thing. Guy up front? Totally an an - Holy shit!"

Sam looked over his shoulder as Dean rushed towards him. His brother looked down at Gabriel in apprehension before he snapped his head to stare at Sam, want of an explanation clear on his face.

"We need to get him out of here," Sam said.

"Uh -"

"Dean, he's bad off. Please. If you don't want to lose the strongest ally we got, _help me_."

He knew reducing Gabriel to something like a weapon would get his brother's attention, even if he hated it. Dean was still frowning, uncomfortable with the idea, when he nodded his assent. He clapped Sam on the shoulder, telling him he'd go get the car and bring it closer to the fence.

Sam placed his free arm underneath Gabriel's legs, underneath his knees, and stood. The Archangel didn't even complain. Which was disheartening. He could just imagine what Gabriel would say to being carried like a bride.

He was warm, Sam noticed as he walked quickly out of the storage unit. Too warm. His body heat was seeping into Sam's arms through his pants far too easily. Probably the Grace, Sam thought. Rising too close to the surface. Sam didn't want to think about that.

When Dean reached the fence, he opened the back doors of the Impala. Taking Gabriel's shoulders and pulling, he helped Sam maneuver the Archangel into the back seat. Dean shut his backdoor and opened the driver's-side door, intent to get in. However, when Sam shut _his_ backdoor and walked around the trunk, Dean paused.

"What are you doing?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"Getting in with Gabriel," Sam answered, doing just that.

It was a bit awkward, gently moving Gabriel just a bit so that he could sit down in the back and place the Archangel's head in his lap, but he managed. When he looked back up at his brother, Dean was staring at him, mouth slightly open and brow furrowed.

Dean opened and shut his mouth a few times. Sam silently stared at him the whole time. Soon, Dean gave up trying to understand what he was seeing. He simply shrugged, shaking his head, and got into the car.

Sam looked down at Gabriel. Other than the fatigue in his face and the abnormal warmth, Sam couldn't see anything wrong with the Archangel. No wounds or anything like that. Whatever was wrong with him was something he didn't know how to fix. Something most likely magical in origin.

"We need to get him to Cas," Sam finally said, absentmindedly stroking Gabriel's cheekbone with his thumb.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Dean questioned, driving them out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "I mean, Metatron _just_ captured him. Yeah, he released him, but... Once he finds out Gabriel's missing, where do you think he's gonna show up?"

"I know that, Dean," Sam sighed. He frowned, "But I don't think we have time to get him to the Bunker without helping...heal him or something. And Cas knows the best way to ward against angels without hindering them."

It'd have to be temporary at best. If Cas could just give Gabriel a little strength, or tell them how to do it, then they could leave. Make a break for the Bunker and hide him there, where Metatron couldn't get to them.

The ride back to Cas' motel was a silent one, leaving Sam to his thoughts. His mind circled as he stared down at Gabriel. Part of him thought he'd finally gotten back what he wanted - the companionship the Grace had given him. But the other part viciously reminded him that the man lying on his lap wasn't the Grace. It wasn't _his_ Gabriel. This one was probably still the Trickster. Whatever would make him want to hang around Sam, let alone anything else? As far as he knew, Gabriel still resented the fact that Sam had released Lucifer.

Yeah, well, if he did, he did. If the real Gabriel wanted nothing to do with him, that was fine. It wouldn't be the first time Sam'd been cast to the side. Right now, Sam just had to focus on making sure there'd be a Gabriel _to_ throw him away.

Cas' car was still in the motel parking lot when they pulled up. Thankfully. In retrospect, perhaps they should have called ahead to warn their friend they were coming. However, Sam's head had been elsewhere. Who knew where Dean's was. Probably still trying to process why Sam was all buddy-buddy with the Trickster. Or why he'd ever taken it that far.

Pulling Gabriel out of the car was a lot easier than getting him in it. He didn't respond to being moved. Not even a whimper. That didn't help relieve Sam's fears. Gabriel was still too warm, as well, only now he was beginning to sweat. Not a good sign.

Dean opened the door for him. His brother didn't even knock. Just barged right in. Naturally, Cas startled, leaping up from the bed he'd been sitting primly on. The angel's wide eyes darted from Dean to the Archangel in Sam's arms. He sucked in a sharp breath, quickly moving out of the way as Sam headed for the bed to place Gabriel on it.

Sam laid Gabriel down gently, ignoring the others, and tried to position him so he'd be comfortable...while not looking dead. He briefly wondered if he should bother removing the dark jacket from Gabriel, if that would help cool him down or not.

"Uh, Cas," Dean said from behind Sam. "Wanna fill us in on this glowing sigil on the wall?"

"Oh. Oh!"

Sam turned at the sudden panic in Cas' voice. The angel was already scrubbing vigorously with his sleeve at a flashing blood sigil next to the door. Sam frowned at it. He looked down to see all the papers that had once been on the wall now littering the floor. Cas must have done that while they were gone. Looking back up at the sigil, Sam wondered why Cas saw fit to use it himself.

Dean was smirking slightly when he informed Cas, "Uh, I think it's already dry, pal. Here."

Reaching into one of his jacket pockets, he pulled out a big, black marker and held it out for Cas to take. Cas did. He yanked it out of Dean's hand so quickly that Dean pulled his hand back as if he feared that would be the next thing to go.

Cas scribbled quickly over the sigil, like he didn't trust a simple 'X' to do the trick. Soon, the mark stopped pulsing its white light. When it had, Cas slumped a little in relief. Sam's frown worsened.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

Cas turned from the wall, stared at Dean for a moment, and then cut his eyes to Sam. He was nervous and guilty about something.

"The angel siren," Cas explained. "I thought it was drawing power from the Horn. However, looking at Gabriel's condition... I think I was a little off on my assumption."

Sam felt chilled, his hand reaching back to grab Gabriel's wrist. The glowing light of the sigil. White like Grace. Had the angel siren been using the Archangel as a power source? Was that why Gabriel looked so weak, his Grace unstable? All those times Gadreel had used the spell...

"Wait," Dean began, waving his hand around. He pointed at Gabriel. "Are you telling me the thing that's been summoning angels has been sucking power outta him to power itself?"

"Yes," Cas admitted solemnly, still looking at Gabriel. He smiled briefly, ruefully, "I see now Metatron's insistence on calling it _Gabriel's_ Horn. And why the call sounded so familiar..."

"Great. Well, Jumbo over there," Dean nodded his head towards Sam, "needs you to work your magic to make sure his new bestie doesn't kick the bucket. And I'm inclined to agree with him, all things considered. How about we get on that?"

Cas frowned sadly, looking from Dean to Sam.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I have enough strength to heal an Archangel. Not the way he needs healing. I wish I could."

"What about wards?" Sam asked, afraid the answer would be no.

Some of the heaviness lifted from Castiel. He was already turning to draw on the wall when he answered:

"That I can do. They won't be the best at keeping us masked from sight, and we should leave as soon as Gabriel's able, but these should buy us some time. Better than nothing, anyway."

"Quick question," Dean spoke up. "Any angels hear your song just now?"

"I don't know," Cas replied, scooting down the wall and drawing another design. "But I should probably wait outside as a diversion when I'm done here. I'll instruct any who do arrive to wait for me elsewhere."

"What are they going to do if they find Gabriel's up 'n' kickin?"

"I don't know that, either. Given his condition, it'd be wise to keep his survival secret. Though, we will have to tell them eventually."

"Why?"

Cas paused in his writing to stare at Dean.

"When you found out Sam was alive, after living months without him, how did you react? What did _you_ feel?"

Dean tensed, but only for a moment. He shrugged Cas' comment off. Their friend had a point, Sam thought. Dean had been furious that no one had told him about Sam. He'd been mourning a brother that wasn't dead, after all. Just lost.

Gabriel was a brother to the angels. Some may be missing him, too.

"Yeah, alright," Dean said. "I think I'm going to step outside. Before my brother starts making goo-goo eyes at Mr. Comatose over there."

Sam's brow furrowed, "I'm not -"

Dean gave him a _look_, "You've been stroking his hand this entire time."

Sam looked back at his left hand. A hand that was innocently settled on Gabriel's left as if it belonged there. He hadn't realized it'd been doing anything against his will.

Sam jerked his hand away from Gabriel's and looked shamefully at the others. Cas was still drawing sigils, though he shook his head at Dean. Dean just rolled his eyes and stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

"Ignore your brother, Sam," Cas spoke, finishing his work and glancing at him. "Touching helps. It calms. Gabriel could use that, I think."

He frowned uncertainly but nodded to Cas to show he understood. Cas left after a similar nod. Dean must have been standing just outside the room. He could hear the two immediately strike up a conversation.

He hoped they wouldn't start arguing. He knew Dean's recent temper, and Cas might accidentally step on his toes. Or...not so accidentally. Cas sometimes liked poking the bear. Especially if he thought the bear was being idiotic.

Sam turned and looked back down at Gabriel. It appeared as if he'd stopped sweating. Maybe Cas killing the siren had taken the strain off of him. That was good. Unless Gadreel made another one somewhere. But Sam couldn't think about that. Not right now. No, right now he was just focused on hoping Gabriel would wake up soon.

And if he slipped his hand back into the Archangel's, that was his own damn business.

* * *

The day went uneventfully after that.

A small handful of angels had shown up in the afternoon, but Cas had steered them on to a different location on an order. He'd been pleased to see that there were some willing to help them in their crusade against Metatron. However, he hadn't been pleased to see how readily and eager they'd been to accept orders. It hadn't given him much hope that they could - or would - operate under their own wills. Angels were odd creatures, even to each other.

Cas and Dean had gotten a separate room, leaving Sam in Cas' old one. Sam wanted to object, but their reasoning was sound. With the room Sam was in warded, maybe if, and when, someone was sent to retrieve Gabriel, Cas and his brother would draw their attention. It was a good plan, in theory. Sam hoped they wouldn't have to put it into practice.

Gabriel hadn't budged all day. Not since they'd found him. It worried Sam. Yet, Gabriel did seem to be making improvements. His temperature had slowly lowered over the hours, finally reaching something in the normal range. His face seemed to be getting a little color to it. His eyes weren't so sunken looking. Maybe all that had been wrong with him _was_ the angel siren. That and the Holy Fire he'd been trapped in. Maybe he'd be fine.

Sam hoped.

He'd taken Cas' advice on the touching thing. He'd sat next to Gabriel on the bed, propped up against the wall so he could occupy himself with the small TV in the room. His leg was in constant contact with Gabriel's side as a general rule. On occasion, he'd touch Gabriel's skin - his neck or his face.

Once or twice, he'd found himself absentmindedly fooling with Gabriel's hair, whenever he allowed himself to get too distracted by whatever was on. He would have felt guilty for it if he hadn't prided himself over mussing up the ridiculously neat style it'd been in. A style that just seemed _off_ for some reason.

Sam wouldn't leave the room - felt he couldn't leave the room - so he'd texted Dean whenever he got hungry. His brother had begrudgingly obliged. Though he brought him a cheeseburger just to be an asshole. Made a quip about how he was sorry for ruining Sam's diet. Sam had smirked it off. He was just glad Dean hadn't berated him about Gabriel.

By nightfall, Sam was exhausted. He was tired and bored, and he found himself nodding off more than he would like. But he couldn't fall asleep. Well, he didn't want to. Because, what if Gabriel woke up while he was out and the angel reacted like he typically did? What if he ran?

Sam jerked awake after having his eyes closed for what felt like a second. Looking at his watch, he realized it'd actually been around ten minutes. He huffed and shifted himself, scooting further down the bed. He unfolded his arms to touch Gabriel again, this time gently pressing the tips of his fingers against the back of the Archangel's hand.

He froze when they made contact.

Instantly, the room was filled with floating strings of light.

At first, he had no idea what the hell was going on. He was too overwhelmed at the sudden brightness illuminating his vision. The strings undulated, moving ever so slowly through the air. Their light wasn't reflecting off any surface in the room. Given the laws of physics...that shouldn't be possible.

Unless what he was seeing wasn't actually there.

He followed the strings with his eyes. Soon, he noticed there were actually two sets of strings. One seemed a bit frayed in places, an occasional speckle of red in all of its white. The other was a pale yellow.

Sam frowned. He knew that color.

He glanced over at Gabriel and jolted in surprise. The yellow lines were coming from his head.

Sam was more confused than ever. Maybe he was seeing the angel's halo? Only...that didn't make sense. Because there were two sets of lines. The white one must be his. He certainly didn't have a halo.

The strings coming from Gabriel were twisted around one another over his head, tugging and pulling against each other. Like they wanted to be free but they couldn't unravel themselves.

Sam chewed on his lip nervously. Then, he leaned towards Gabriel so that he could try and work the knots loose with his free hand. He was surprised he actually managed to touch the light.

Sam blinked.

He was not in the motel room anymore. Gabriel wasn't pressed against him. Sam was standing. In the storage unit, of all places. The Holy Fire was still lit. And inside it stood Gabriel.

The Archangel was worriedly staring at the flames at his feet. For some reason, Sam could see his wings. Tattered, nearly broken things. So many feathers were missing that Sam could see the flesh of the wing in more than one place. Nothing at all like Sam remembered them to be.

This was a dream, Sam realized. Had to be. It would explain the lights and the sudden teleportation easily. He must have fallen asleep on that last nod. What he didn't understand was why he'd dreamed what he had before, or why he was here now.

Gabriel looked up from the circle. Sam sucked in a breath when they made eye contact. There was recognition in Gabriel's eyes. They remained fretful and gloomy, but they were also focused. On him.

With a clarity Sam wasn't entirely sure would be possible if the Gabriel he was facing wasn't the _real_ one.

Were they dream walking again?

The unguarded look Gabriel had given him quickly shifted. It was bitter now, Gabriel's mouth pulling into a small smirk. The look cut Sam. Gabriel scoffed.

"You again?" He bit. Looking back at the flames, he questioned, "Why's it always you?"

Sam frowned. This was the first time they were meeting, wasn't it? Why ask that?

"What do you mean?"

"Puh! _Please_. You haunt me all hours of the day. You should know."

"I- I do what?"

Gabriel finally looked up from the Fire to stare at him as if he were an idiot. Sam had to hand it to him, he had that look down.

"Y'know?" Gabriel began sarcastically, tilting his head, "Of all the ways Metatron could screw with me, this one takes the cake. This particular incarnation of you..."

Gabriel trailed off. He stared at Sam with pursed lips. Sam stared back, brain furiously at work trying to figure out what was going on exactly.

Gabriel shrugged with his hands, "I gotta hand it to him, it's pretty accurate. He's getting better at your characterization."

He held up a finger, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta figure out a way to get the hell out of here before I die. So, could you just... Fuck off? Just vanish like you usually do. Only, this time, don't come back.

"Of course, that's what I told you _last_ time and here we are. Hell, I don't even know why I keep talking to you. It's like a stray dog. Feed it and it'll just keep comin' back."

Gabriel went back to glaring at the fire. Sam looked from him, to the flames, and back. Gabriel thought this was real. And that he _wasn't_ real.

This was like the Cage dream, then. This was a nightmare for Gabriel...and the Archangel didn't even know he was in one.

Sam didn't know why Gabriel thought he'd been seeing him all the time. Or, perhaps he truly had? Regardless, that wasn't important. Not right now. Sam had to tell Gabriel that he was fine. Well, fine-ish. This was all fake and he was safe in a motel room in Utah. He had to convince him to wake up. That flames wouldn't be there to greet him.

"Gabriel," Sam said gently, walking slowly towards the Archangel. "None of this is real."

The other snorted, "That one's new..."

"I'm not a trick."

"Oh, I know trick -" Gabriel cut himself off when he noticed Sam approaching him.

Apprehension flashed across his features. He took a step back, drawing his useless wings closer to his body. He was too intently watching Sam's feet, looking like a cat ready to bolt. And if Gabriel thought the Holy Fire was real...

Sam wasn't taking any chances. He threw caution to the wind, ignored the flames completely, and rushed towards the Archangel.

Gabriel surprised him with a quick shout. The Archangel tried to throw himself back, but Sam was too fast. Sam grabbed ahold of Gabriel's right arm with his left and placed his right hand on Gabriel's cheek, firmly tilting the Archangel's face upwards so they could actually _look_ at one another.

Gabriel was afraid. Like he was looking at a ghost, Sam's mind joked. Or like how Sam had looked whenever his hallucinations of Lucifer got too real for him.

Sam hated to instill that fear in Gabriel, but something had to be done. He'd apologize later.

"Look at me," Sam said, keeping his voice calm and reassuring.

Gabriel didn't even twitch, wide eyes locked onto Sam's.

"This isn't real," he stressed. "I'm real, not this."

The Archangel was silent for a moment. Then his lip twitched upward, just once. He looked dejected.

"No," Gabriel spoke softly. "You're not."

Sam took a gander, "You say you've been seeing me. During all those times, did I ever touch you?"

Gabriel frowned, eyebrows drawing together in thought.

"My guess is no, considering how quickly you tried to get away from me. How can I do this," Sam squeezed his grip on Gabriel's arm for just a second, "if I'm not really here."

"You walked through the fire without being burned," Gabriel mumbled. "You're not real. I'm just losing it."

"I walked through the fire because _it's_ not real," Sam explained gently. "You're in a dream, Gabriel. A nightmare. We found you in this storage unit. You gave Cas your coordinates, remember? Metatron used you, or a part of you, to try and teach Cas a lesson, but you left a note. Dean and I found you. We got you out of here. You're fine. You're in a motel room lying on a bed. And I need you to _wake up_."

Gabriel was still frowning as he looked at Sam. Sam could see him warring with himself - hoping and wishing not to. Gabriel's eyes had always been the most expressive part of him. They always gave him away.

"I don't -" Gabriel faltered. "I can't -. You _can't_ be here, Sam."

"Why not?" Sam implored.

"Because you hate me," Gabriel answered simply. "And I deserve it."

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. He heard the Archangel huff a laugh.

"See?" Gabriel tried to joke.

Sam didn't think about what he was doing. He just moved. He leaned forward and bent down to place his forehead against Gabriel's. The Archangel twitched in his hold but that was it. Opening his eyes, Sam saw that Gabriel had his closed. The look of longing on his face was heart-wrenching. If Sam had to bet, he'd say Gabriel was touch-starved.

Sam's gaze traveled to the Archangel's wings. He was right when he'd thought they'd moved. They were stretched forwards, towards him.

Sam remembered wings protecting him, forming a cocoon around him so that Lucifer couldn't get to him. He remembered feathers that looked like light playing on water. He remembered pressing in-between shoulder blades.

"You're wrong," Sam said softly, hands sliding from their perches to reach under Gabriel's arms, to reach for his back.

Gabriel opened his eyes at that, looking up at him in confusion as he tried to pull his wings back.

Sam wouldn't let him, though. He grabbed a hold of the burnt wings behind Gabriel, firmly but not harshly. The Archangel still hissed in pain, however. Gabriel brought his hands up to push Sam away, but Sam had other ideas.

_An_ idea, actually. This was a dream, and dreams could be manipulated.

Taking a small step back, Sam focused on his memory of the Grace. He narrowed his thoughts to the Grace's wings and what they had looked like. Then, he tried to project them onto Gabriel's. He willed these pitiful, mangled things to take the shape they must have had before the Fall.

Gabriel cringed, teeth bared, as a spark shot across one of his wings. He moved them behind himself quickly, trying to wrench them loose from Sam's grasp. But Sam held on. He held on and kept to his task.

Another spark ran along the flesh and bone of the Archangel's wings. Then another and another. Finally, like a dam bursting, light began to pour out of Gabriel's back where his wings connected to it. It oozed and flowed to cover the muscles and feathers. Where there were no feathers, it made some, surging outward and then solidifying into the proper shape.

Gabriel was shaking, head bowed as he gripped tightly at Sam's shirt. If he made any noise, Sam couldn't hear him - the sound of Grace was too loud.

Within seconds, the Grace had completed its task.

A brief flash blinded Sam; the shrill whine stopped.

When he blinked the black dots away from his vision, he saw Gabriel's wings - full and different shades of gold. Not the way he remembered them, but maybe that's because these weren't made of light. Maybe Gabriel was influencing this vision.

The cause wasn't important, though. All that mattered was that Sam had changed them. He had restored a part of the Archangel that he had lost.

Something that Sam could never do in reality.

Neither of them moved for a moment. Sam too focused on the familiar, electrical sting that the wings were producing under his hands. Gabriel was probably too stunned to move.

When the Archangel finally looked up at Sam, he appeared to be in awe. Sam smiled gently.

"Wake up, Gabriel."


	8. Chapter 8

Sam opened his eyes groggily, blinking a few times. He was back in the motel room. Which meant he was awake. He sighed through his nose. Noticing the crick in his neck from where he'd slouched over during his sleep, Sam pushed himself upright and popped his neck. Then, he looked down at Gabriel.

The Archangel was awake. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, small frown on his face. He blinked.

Sam awkwardly shifted his leg away from the other where it was still touching him. Gabriel didn't react. Sam started to get nervous. So, he decided to be the one to break the ice.

"You okay?" He asked.

Gabriel huffed, but that was all he did.

"Um," Sam began. "Sorry. If-if I hurt you...with that. It was kinda the first thing to pop into my head to make you realize you weren't in a dream."

"How did you do that?" Gabriel finally spoke.

The question surprised Sam. He didn't know what he expected Gabriel to say, but that definitely had not been on the list. Sam shrugged with a shoulder, combing his hand through his hair.

"I just did?" He half-asked. "I mean, I'm used to lucid dreaming. And then I kinda got used to dream sharing with you - er - not _you_ you. Your Grace. It's -. It's a long story."

Gabriel sighed, "Yeah. I know. Kinda got the down-low when you zapped my brain with your fancy powers."

"Oh. _Oh_." Sam fidgeted uncomfortably. "Even the...um...that one time?"

"Sexy times under the Tree of Knowledge?" Gabriel joked half-heartedly. "Yeah, got that visual, too. Not sure if flattered or creeped out."

Sam was pretty sure his face turned redder than Rudolph's nose.

He'd planned on addressing _that_ at some point. When he thought he could do it without stuttering after every word. It would be awkward, he'd imagined, explaining to Gabriel that he kind of wanted, and was willing, to sleep with what was, essentially, his ghost. ...Turns out, it was weirder accidentally downloading the whole scene directly into the guy's brain.

"I didn't mean to do that," he mumbled. "Sorry..."

Gabriel didn't reply. He did, however, roll himself onto his side with a small grunt, pushing himself towards the other side of the bed.

Sam's embarrassment was replaced with concern as he leaned up from against the wall. He wasn't sure Gabriel should be taxing himself so soon. He opened his mouth to voice said concern.

Gabriel raised a hand to silence him.

Sam shut his mouth with a soft click.

The Archangel sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing Sam. He put his elbows on his knees, dropping his head into his hands. He rubbed at his forehead with the heels of his palms.

Sam looked away to stare at his outstretched legs. He'd upset Gabriel. He knew he would. And the Archangel had every right to be upset with him. Sam fiddled guiltily with the hem of his shirt.

"Sorry," he muttered again.

"Oh, wouldja stop that?" Gabriel snapped, voice muffled by his hands.

Sam looked uncertainly over at him.

Gabriel dropped his arms.

"You did nothing wrong. There's nothing to be ashamed of. I swear, you two _look_ for reasons to guilt-trip yourselves."

"But, I -"

"Ah!" Gabriel shushed him, finally turning around to hold a finger up.

He looked frustrated. But there was something else. Sam couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, though.

"Just drop it, Sam. It doesn't bother me. It shouldn't bother you. That's how it works."

"Yeah, because you're so not bothered," Sam replied sarcastically.

Gabriel stared at him for a moment before smacking his lips.

"You're right," he nodded once. "I am bothered. But not about our little porno. Or even our heart-to-hearts. Not even about you imagining Lucifer stabbing me _again_. Which _hurt, _by the way.

"The problem is, Sam: It shouldn't have."

Sam frowned and asked, "What?"

Gabriel turned to face him, one leg drawn up onto the bed.

"Y'all were in a dream, Sam. Outside your noggin? The Grace was just energy and sentience. You _injured_ it. Well, poked it, really. Like an annoying mosquito bite."

"I didn't know," he muttered. "But how could I have...?"

"Projected your thoughts onto the physical realm?" Gabriel guessed. "Good question."

Sam bit at his bottom lip. He knew what Gabriel was implying. At least, he thought he did. The only way to do something like what he'd done was to have some sort of psychic power. Kinda like old Frank with his cartoons.

"Oh..." He said grimly.

"Yup. Where's Castiel?"

"Uh, in another room. With Dean. Why?"

"Because I need you to get his not-so-feathered ass in here so I can get a second opinion on something. Before I freak out."

"Yeah. Sure."

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and began his message to Cas mostly on autopilot.

He felt horrible. Gabriel was implying something he didn't want to think about. Psychic powers? Again? God, he was never going to be normal. He was always going to be a freak.

He jumped when the Archangel's head entered his peripheral. Leaning back, he took in the narrow-eyed glare Gabriel was giving him.

"I told you to stop that," Gabriel said sternly. "Whatever the hell you're thinking: Stop it."

Sam sighed and hit send.

He tried to take Gabriel's advice. He let his mind wander as his eyes did. Unfortunately, after one pass around the room, he found his attention gravitating back to Gabriel. The Archangel had pushed himself slowly off the bed, as if testing the limits of his strength, and was now by the wall of sigils.

He furled his nose at the angel siren, gave the warding a cursory glance, then bent down to pick up the papers Cas had ripped from the floor. Sam knew the information contained on them had to do with the angel deaths Cas had been investigating. Their Vessels' pictures were all over the place. Sam briefly wondered if Gabriel would mourn any of them. He wondered if Gabriel knew who had killed them...

It wasn't long before there was a knock on the door. Sam moved to unlock it.

However, when he had only one foot on the floor, Gabriel waved his hand. The lock clicked open on its own. Sam frowned at the angel.

"Should you really be doing that in your condition?" He complained.

"Relax, kiddo," Gabriel replied, dropping the list of Vessels in his hand to the floor just as Cas stepped into the room. "You did more than give me wings last night."

Cas must have heard him, for he frowned in confusion when he looked at Gabriel. Dean entered after him, shutting the door a little too hard. His brother did not look happy. Sam wondered if Cas stared at him all night, or something.

"Gabriel," Cas greeted, still curious but also relieved.

"Hey, bro," Gabriel greeted back. He raised his arms a little, "Miss me?"

"Well... Technically, I saw you hours ago. But, yes, I am thankful you're alive. And on your feet."

Gabriel dropped his arms and rolled his eyes, "Not the typical answer, but I'll take it."

"How's it feel not to be in a burning ring of fire?" Dean snarked, smiling ruefully as he leaned against the door with his arms crossed.

"_Dean_~" Gabriel grinned. "I did _not _miss you."

"Oh, heh, feeling's mutual."

"Point, Gabriel," Sam interrupted.

The last thing he wanted was a fight happening between those two. Not only because he was sure neither one of them would back down, but also because the motel room was a bit cramped with all of them grouped together as they were. He did not want to get caught in the crossfire.

"Right." Gabriel clapped once, "I think me and Sam are uber boned."

Sam frowned at that, tilting his head at the Archangel.

"Sure you're not uber boning?" Dean mumbled.

"Oh, please, Dean. If me and your brother were doing the do, you would know. Bit loud."

"Oh, ew. Okay. Forget I said anything."

Cas looked from Dean to Gabriel, "What do you mean, Gabriel?"

Gabriel suddenly looked very uncomfortable. The expression shocked Sam. The Archangel glanced at him quickly, shifted his weight nervously, then flicked his eyes back to Cas. He huffed.

"You know how Sam kept interacting with that little, tiny, teensy-weensy, like, completely insignificant part of me that came out of the Horn?" Gabriel asked, voice high with stress.

That tone did not do anything for Sam's nerves but make them worse.

"Yes. Why?"

"Know how it kinda disappeared when Metatron summoned me...and it?"

Cas nodded slowly. Sam wished Gabriel would get on with it before he snapped.

"Yeah, well, it kinda returned to sender...after maybe, possibly forming a little bond."

Cas frowned, brow furrowing. The angel tilted his head in thought as his eyes narrowed. Meanwhile, Dean was staring at Gabriel like he'd grown another head.

"A bond?" Cas tried to clarify.

"What, like a _profound_ bond?" Dean asked.

Sam recognized that phrase. Turns out, so did Cas. The angel adopted a blank face. Sam snorted at it. Cas didn't seem to appreciate the joke made at his expense.

"Well, not- I wouldn't call it _profound_." Gabriel explained, rocking his weight onto his heels and then back. "But it's...probably _there._"

"What made you think of this?" Cas questioned.

"I kept seeing Sam," Gabriel admitted, almost bashfully. "I thought it was Metatron messing with me. _Sam_ knows. He kinda...dream walked into my head, after all."

Cas' head whipped around to stare at Sam so fast that Sam flinched.

"What?" Sam almost squeaked.

"Did you dream walk?"

"I thought you couldn't do that without dream root," Dean interjected.

"You can't," Gabriel answered. "Unless you're psychic."

The way Dean's face darkened was almost terrifying.

"Oh, lay off, Dean," Gabriel commanded. "It's not what you're thinking."

"No," Cas agreed, still looking at Sam. "It's not. I think you're right in your assumption, Gabriel."

"Oh, yay."

"What?" Sam asked again. "What's going on? What's the assumption? _What's wrong with me?_"

"Nothing's wrong with you Sam," Cas answered gently. "This is _Gabriel's_ fault."

The angel turned to stare accusingly at his brother. Dean joined in, though he looked downright murderous. Gabriel was like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen in place. Except for his eyes, and they couldn't figure out which of the two to stay focused on.

"What the hell did you do to my brother?" Dean growled.

"_I_ didn't do anything," Gabriel retorted, pointing at himself. "The Grace did."

"The Grace _was_ you, Gabriel," Cas explained impatiently. "It was your thoughts and desires. It behaved as you would. And the fact that Sam was able to walk into _your_ dreams after it rejoined you only helps solidify the point. _Your_ fault."

Sam took a deep breath and let it slowly. He counted to ten, though that never really helped him in the past.

"If you two don't tell me what the hell is going on, I'm going to stab both of you," he threatened.

"Fine!" Gabriel exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He turned to face Sam. "You want the Cliff's Notes version? I formed a bond with you and now you have psychic powers. There. I said it."

"What's that mean, Gabriel?" Dean demanded. "And don't lie to me because I will shank you."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder at Dean.

"My Grace accessed Sam's mind so frequently, and Sam allowed it to, that a psychic link was formed. A sort of _bond_. A favoritism. North and south. Positive and negative. Trick is: Sam's mind is already wired for psychic powers. Think of him as one of those annoying, battery-operated fountains. Pour water in him and watch him go. I was the water."

"Me projecting pain onto the Grace," Sam said. "Like a psychic blast traveling along a conduit."

"Bingo."

"And me dreaming about those cords... I grabbed yours. I followed the-the bond, or whatever."

"Right again."

Sam nodded once. So, he was going to be a freak again. Just...not a demonic one. At least that was a plus.

Even though he didn't like the idea of having any sort of psychic power - it reminded too much of Azazel - he couldn't really blame Gabriel for this outcome. After all, he'd willing gone to the Grace himself in the end. This was just an accident. Gabriel didn't seem to be too pleased with it, either, so...

Dean made a sound of disgust, "I knew letting you two hang around one another was a bad idea."

"Knock it off, Dean," Cas warned.

Dean was genuinely stunned at the order. So much so that he actually kept his mouth shut.

"So, what, am I going to be like Carrie now?" Sam asked, only half joking.

"Haaa, no," Gabriel replied. "At least, I don't think. And especially if we stop our little mind-melds at night."

"You think the bond will fade without further strengthening?" Cas asked, looking at the Archangel.

"I hope," Gabriel answered sullenly.

"This is ridiculous," Dean complained.

Cas actually rolled his eyes. He turned and grabbed Dean by his arm. Dean frowned, staring at Cas' hand like it had personally offended him.

"We need to talk," Cas said. He looked briefly at Gabriel, "Fix this."

With that, Cas opened the door, dragging an already shouting Dean out of the room. The door slammed shut behind them. Sam frowned at the door until he could no longer hear his ranting and raving brother. Gabriel cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing Sam's attention.

"I see your brother's still a dick," Gabriel said, most likely aiming for a distraction.

"He's just worried," Sam defended. "Isn't he right to?"

Gabriel looked wounded at his accusation, gaze dropping to the floor.

"It's not..." Gabriel trailed off. "The bond's not toxic, Sam. It's not going to hurt you. It can't. It just _is._ It'll probably fade away on its own."

"And if it doesn't?"

Gabriel looked up at him, eyebrows drawn together with a small frown on his face. There was that longing again. Sam could see it in his eyes. Damn, but why did that hurt to see?

"Just because it's there doesn't mean you have to use it."

Sam nodded.

That was true, wasn't it? Just because a beer bottle was in the room didn't mean it had to be drunk.

Then again, like the beer, it was tempting. Especially if there were no ill side-effects.

He didn't know where he stood regarding the bond. He didn't know where he wanted to stand. So, he'd think about it later. Put it off for a bit. Right now, he just wanted a distraction. Something that wasn't magic. Something that wasn't his brother probably stomping around outside like a pissed-off dragon breathing flame. He shrugged.

"So," he began. "What have you been up to?"

Gabriel raised an amused brow at that.

"You sure you want me to bore you with my scars?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Gabriel smiled despite himself.

* * *

**A/N: The end. Or is it? You may have noticed this fic ends on an open-ended note. There's two reasons for that. One, I feel that I can expand on this universe. I like the relationship I've got going between Sam and Gabriel and I'd love to explore it further. Two, I haven't been completely sold on the idea, though. Depends on how much...demand...I get to continue. If there isn't one? Well, y'all can imagine your own outcomes, can't ya?**


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